


Real

by dunklenacht310



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Zayn, Canon Compliant, Eating Disorders, Future Fic, Gay Sex, Heavy Angst, M/M, Switching, Top Harry, Two POVs, Unsafe Sex, in the first part but by the end of the second part it has to be considered a, mentions of anxiety and depression, switching (mentions)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-27 03:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18295784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dunklenacht310/pseuds/dunklenacht310
Summary: Zayn and Harry are used to it. They probably get off on it a little bit too, the kisspering, the stares, the ambiguous movements of their hands holding the mics in front of a crowd. The fans love it, their screams deafen Zayn’s ears even from a distance, even through his earpieces, every time he and Harry float towards each other on stage.It’s for the sake of the show.-Zayn and Harry gravitate toward each other and let things unravel too hard, too fast. Takes place from 2013 to a future in 2019, as Zayn and Harry understand they have to heal themselves before they can heal their love for each other.





	1. Part 1 - 'Cause we are who we are when no one's watching

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer: I don't know or own any of the characters present in this work.  
> The title of this first chapter is taken from "I won't mind" by Zayn Malik.
> 
> This is written on a total whim, because as I told my most dedicated reader earlier today, writing is therapeutic. It's also my first (and probably only) attempt at a canon-compliant fic, so I hope it doesn't suck too bad.

 

 

 

**2013**

_June_

The first time it happens, Zayn doesn’t even think about it until Louis brings it up after the show.

Zayn and Harry are used to it. They probably get off on it a little bit too, the kisspering, the stares, the ambiguous movements of their hands holding the mics in front of a crowd. The fans love it, their screams deafen Zayn’s ears even from a distance, even through his earpieces, every time he and Harry float towards each other on stage.

It’s for the sake of the show. Zayn loves to rile up the crowd, because it makes up for him not being able to give speeches and be funny in between songs like the rest of the lads have mastered from day one.

But Harry is in a mood that night. Zayn understands it. His incredibly romantic and just equally insignificant relationship with Taylor has long ended, and Harry has never been particularly wrecked about it, but running into her that morning and listening to how good she has it, how she even thanks him for making her suffer because he inspired her ‘one of the best songs ever’, well, that would take its toll even on Harry fucking Styles, wonder boy, incredibly polite, and all that. None of them has missed the reference to their own song, either. The single for _Best Song Ever_ hasn’t been released yet, but of course Harry has talked about it to Taylor.

Niall had warned Harry to be careful, but Harry never is. Not with his own life, not with his relationships. “Next thing we know she’s gonna diss you on the fucking stage at the VMAs”, Niall had commented. Harry had laughed and driven his fingers through his curls, but Zayn knows Harry like the back of his hand, he knows his fake smiles and the real ones, the laughter he sends any interviewer’s way and the one he reserves for when he’s really happy.

So, Zayn doesn’t judge Harry for being in a mood during the show that night.

They’re in New York, the weather is crazy hot, and Zayn thinks that, on hindsight, the light red t-shirt has been a bad idea, because once it starts to be soaked in sweat on his back and under his armpits, it’ll be disgusting. He says a mental sorry to Caroline for not following her advice of wearing something darker. But Zayn has honestly about 2% freedom of choice in this band, so he can try to at least decide his own outfit at shows, cheers.

Harry’s wearing black skinnies and just a simple, white t-shirt. Zayn is a bit worried about him, he always is when Harry sings so aggressively, when he doesn’t stop his prancing for more than three minutes, when he swings his hips in the crowd’s face like he wants to prove a point no one can see but him.

So Zayn waits, praying to whatever divinity above that the moment for _Kiss You_ comes fast, because he knows Harry will gravitate towards him during that song like he can’t help it, and then Zayn can finally touch him, grab him by an elbow and whisper in his ear that they’re fine, that Harry doesn’t need validation from Taylor fucking Swift or anyone else, they’re at the top of the fucking world and they’ll stay there as long as they can handle it.

Zayn doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it for long, to be honest, but Harry doesn’t need to know that.

The moment for _Kiss You_ finally comes. Zayn is suddenly feeling his nerves jolt under his skin, the anticipation to finally be able to touch Harry running so fast through his body that he starts his verse slightly too early. He adjusts it in a second, looks at Harry on the other side of the stage.

Harry doesn’t look at him, but sure enough, when he starts singing _Oh, tell me tell me tell me how to turn your love on_ , he also starts prancing sideways, towards Zayn.

Harry grabs his own crotch, and if Zayn can be honest with himself, he can’t really blame the screaming fans. Hell, had things been different, he’d probably have been one of them. He’d have listened to his R&B and harboured a secret crush on the curly lad from One Direction, hiding it from his beautiful girlfriend.

Thinking about it, things are not _so_ different from reality. Throw in the small details that Zayn’s in the same boyband, and that the whole girlfriend thing is just a PR stunt, and you have the truth.

Zayn doesn’t have much more time to dwell on how much his life is fake, because Harry has reached him and is singing _Baby, just shout it out, shout it out_ in Zayn’s face.

And then it happens.

Harry and Zayn would normally laugh in each other’s face and maybe rub crotches. But this time, Harry finishes his verse and bends over, his face coming right over Zayn’s dick, not touching it of course, but _there_.

Zayn feels himself fill up instantly. He knows Louis is eyeing them with an arched eyebrow, but he can’t look back at him, because his eyes seem to have been made for the sole purpose of watching Harry Styles being at eye-level with his crotch that night. So Zayn does the only thing he can think of to break the moment before people can take pictures of his already half-hard dick in his jeans.

He mimics a thrust in Harry’s face.

Harry raises his eyes for a split moment, licks his lips probably faster than any other human eye could catch, and stands straight, smirking at Zayn and prancing away.

Zayn follows him. Harry turns to face him again, points one of his long fingers at him and grins, saying something Zayn can’t make out in the loud music and the even louder thump of his heartbeat.

They finish the song without further incidents, except Harry chooses every moment Zayn has finally managed to will his hard-on away to pump his arm in the air in one of his signature moves, and that just brings Zayn to square one. So Zayn tries to stay as far away as possible from Harry without making it look suspicious to anyone.

The show is soon over, and Zayn prays no one posts videos of Harry shoving his face in his crotch while Zayn thrusts forward, because he really can’t deal with Perrie’s pissed texts tonight.

They’re not really together, is the thing. They dated for a while, but when they decided to break up, their managers threw a strop, and before Zayn could even fathom what the fuck was happening, their relationship had become something for someone else to control. _You can’t break up now, not in the public eye. It’s not a good time. We’ll tell you when_.

Zayn finds the whole deal absurd, that someone has to decide for them when they’re free to break up. And he doesn’t even know how it has turned to _You’ll propose to Perrie in August, Zayn_. Perrie had almost clawed out the whole PR team’s eyes with her long manicured nails, and Zayn had just been there, abashed. They’d told them _it’s fake, of course, you’ll eventually cancel the engagement when it’s time_.

Zayn hates everything in his life, except the four boys he shares a stage with. A stage that has been his biggest dream for years, and which now he’s come to loathe.

“Great performance, seriously” Louis comments once the show is over and they’re all backstage, drying the sweat from their hair with towels before they can finally head back to the hotel and shower properly.

Zayn knows Louis isn’t referring to the show, because his eyebrows are arched at Zayn. He ignores it. “You too, mate” he smiles innocently at Louis.

Harry, Niall and Liam have already been ushered to the first car, which leaves Zayn and Louis alone in the dressing room. “You’re a total dickhead, you know that, right?” Louis offers.

“What?”

“I bet you get off on it. Harry too”

“What are you on about?” Zayn exclaims, trying to laugh casually.

Louis shrugs. “The whole riling each other up on stage. And the crowd as well. You get off on the fact that they’ll see you be intimate with Harry and then they’ll go home thinking about how you fuck each other in your hotel room, because you know it’s not happening, but you know you’d like it to”

And well, Zayn couldn’t have said it better, to be honest, but it’s not like he can admit it out loud. “You hit your head during the show?” he asks.

Louis shrugs again. “I know I’m right. And I know for sure that’s what Harry gets off on, too”

“What do you mean, for sure?” Zayn asks, his voice coming out too shaky.

“The lad is nursing a boner the size of Jupiter for you, Zayn, are you daft?” Louis laughs, seeming to be more relaxed “You’ve been gravitating around each other since fucking bootcamp at the X-Factor, you’ve thrown yourselves on girls and girls to try and deny it, you’ve dated people who’ve never meant _shit_ to you, and now here you two are, mimicking blowjobs on stage like it’s perfectly normal”

_It isn’t normal, I know better than you or even Harry_ , Zayn wants to answer, but he doesn’t. “It’s just show” he says instead.

“I never feel the need of kneeling in front of Liam or Niall while they thrust in my face” Louis retorts, matter-of-factly “It’s fine, mate. Don’t clam up. You’re safe with all of us, you know that, right? I’m just telling you because I think three years is enough pining. Talk to Harry. Talk your shit out before your sexual frustration makes you explode in front of our fans. One Direction can’t afford losing Zayn Malik”

 

*

 

_August_

Zayn hasn’t talked to Harry, but he’s talked to Perrie, maybe even more than when they really were together.

He’s on the phone with her, now, on the balcony of his hotel room. He’s ‘proposed’ to her that afternoon. She’s been a great actress, being all prettily shocked while he sucked up his pride and discomfort and got on his knee, reciting “You’re the Little to my Mix, will you marry me?” like he really believed the words. She’d laughed, probably honestly amused at the question, and she’d said yes.

Zayn hasn’t seen Harry since. Perrie has been there with them for the evening, making sure pics were taken for the magazines, and then everybody has dropped the act as soon as they’ve been left alone.

Harry is nowhere to be found, except Zayn knows he’s just in his own hotel room, because he’s told the other lads. Not Zayn, though.

Perrie has gone, hugging him goodbye, and as soon as Zayn has reached his room, he’s called her. Perrie is not his girlfriend, not anymore, but she grounds him, she listens to him, she doesn’t think Zayn is weird for not loving the fame and the money and the attention to anything but his music.

That’s why Perrie knows about Harry.

“I’m starting to think we made a huge fucking mistake, Zayn” Perrie muses, her lovely voice laced with sadness.

Zayn shakes his head. “No, babe. It’s fine. It’s just for the show, right? It’s not real”

“I ain’t talking about the engagement, babe” Perrie sighs “I’m talking about it in general. The way we’ve let other people take charge of our lives until _this_ point. Until the point you’re hurting, Harry’s probably hurting too, and I have to keep seeing Jason in secret although I really fucking love him”

Zayn sighs. It’s probably weird, that they’re so at ease talking about other people they fancy, when they’re _technically_ engaged. But Perrie, despite it all, is probably the only easy thing left in Zayn’s life, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You think Haz’s hurting?” Zayn asks pitifully.

Perrie chuckles. “Louis is right, Zayn, you _are_ daft” she answers “Harry’s done nothing but hurt ‘cause of you since day one, probably. Since me and you were _really_ together. You didn’t notice, but I did”

Zayn’s heart thumps painfully, and he rummages for a cigarette, going to the balcony to light it up. He blesses Paul a little, for giving them rooms on the top floor so that even if he goes on the balcony nobody can really see him anyway. “You never said” he sighs, putting her on speaker because no one’s around. He sits on the floor of the balcony, lowering the volume of the call just in case, and lighting his cigarette.

Perrie sighs. “What would I have said? ‘Sorry, love, but just asking, did you notice how Harry is fucking in love with you?’? Come on, Zayn. I still wanted you to be my boyfriend at that point, and I knew that if I made you notice, you’d dump me in a heartbeat”

“I wouldn’t have, Pez” he says, taking another drag.

“You sure would have” she laughs “It’s okay, babe. I don’t blame you. You’ve probably been in love with him even before meeting me, only you were too scared or just oblivious to notice”

Zayn huffs out his smoke. “It is fucking scary, I won’t lie”

“It’ll probably be less scary if you fucking _talk_ to him” Perrie says gently “Rubbing crotches together and mimicking blowjobs on stage is not nearly enough. Just talk to him, Zayn. And I swear to God, if he really loves you and he tells you he’s not okay with the fake engagement, and if you two really wanna give this a go, I’ll go to TMZ tomorrow morning with a banner that reads ‘We’re sorry, it was a mistake, I’m not the Little to his Mix’, promise”

Zayn laughs, probably the first honest laugh in months. “That might be a little extreme”

“I _am_ a little extreme” Perrie says proudly, making him laugh again.

“I really wish I could love you, Pez” he sighs.

Perrie chuckles. “Me too, sometimes, babe. But it’s okay. We tried. We don’t work _that_ way, we work _this_ way. Now please, let me go to sleep. I can’t look all tired barely a day after an engagement. Do you promise to talk to him?”

Zayn nods. “I will” he says out loud, remembering that Perrie can’t see him.

“Okay. I love you, babe. Please be okay. I don’t wanna lose you, not to showbiz and not to Harry Styles”

Zayn chuckles. “Harry’s probably the only good thing I got out of showbiz”

“Jesus Christ” Perrie laughs “You’re a fucking sap, who would have thought. Goodnight, Zayn”

“Goodnight, Pez” he replies, and ends the call with another sigh.

A rustle makes the blood freeze in his veins.

When he turns to look inside his room, Harry’s there, still in the clothes he’d been wearing during the afternoon. He’s barefoot, tormenting the rings on his fingers, and his eyes are clouded with worry, pain, wonder, everything.

“You gave me the key to your room two days ago” he says, and his voice is weak, tentative “I used it because I knew that if I knocked I would have run before you could answer”

Zayn stands up from the floor of the balcony, stubbing his cigarette as quickly as he can and going back inside the room, closing the French doors, and the curtains, for good measure.

“Sorry” Harry just breathes.

Zayn shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything, Haz”

“But that’s the problem” Harry says, his eyes lowered to his own feet “I stopped talking to you. I made everything go to shit. Since last month in New York, when we did that… _thing_ on stage, I lost my fucking mind over you even more than I already had. And I tried to fight it the only way I could, so I pretended it didn’t happen. I tried to be a normal friend to you, but I can’t, Zayn. I can’t because you look at me like you should look at your girlfriend, and I can’t take it anymore”

Zayn takes a further step towards Harry. “Perrie’s not my girlfriend, not really, Haz. You know”

Harry nods. “I do. But the thought… the thought that _everyone_ else thinks she is, it makes me see red, Zayn. I’m so fucking _jealous_ , and I’ve never been before, and it scares the shit out of me because I don’t even know how _you_ feel”

Zayn smiles a bit, despite himself. “Now you know how I felt when you were with Taylor” he has to say, because if they’re really talking, then Harry has to know.

Harry gapes. “It’s been _months_ ” he comments.

Zayn laughs openly. “Months, Haz?” he says “It’s been _years_ , more like. I don’t think I’ve ever quite seen you as just a friend, like, ever, babe”

Harry’s pretty, pink lips part some more. “You… you too?”

Zayn nods, and covers the remaining distance between them in two strides. “Louis told me. That you might feel the same. And Pez, too. I was just too scared to admit it to myself, before even admitting it to you”

“Perrie too?”

Zayn shrugs. “As I said. She’s not my girlfriend. But she’s a good friend. Someone I’ll always trust. But not as much as I trust _you_ , Harry” he tries to be as honest as he can, because the three words he desperately wants to tell Harry are not ‘I trust you’, but Zayn can’t bring himself to be that vulnerable just yet.

Harry smiles and nods, because he knows Zayn like the back of his hand too, and he doesn’t need Zayn to wax poetics or make long speeches, Harry already _knows_. “Okay” he just says.

“So what do you want, Haz?” Zayn asks “Because I’m not sure I can give you just _part_ of this” he lamely points at himself, the whole mess of him, because a little, ugly voice inside him is still scared that this is just a new fling for Harry, something new to experiment with, something _fun_.

But Harry knows Zayn, forever will, probably, because he shakes his head, and the next moment they’re kissing.

Harry grabs Zayn’s jaw to keep him in place and slowly but firmly parts Zayn’s lips with his tongue, demanding an access Zayn is already giving him. And when their tongues collide, Zayn has to close his eyes because Harry’s eyes are burning his retinas, they stare so intently at him. They look at Zayn like Zayn is the only good thing in this world too, like Zayn’s the only thing they could ever care to look at, and Zayn relishes in that feeling, in that kiss, and in Harry’s hands grabbing his hips to haul him closer.

“I don’t want _part_ , Zayn” Harry murmurs on his lips “I never wanted _part_. I want it all. I want you when you’re hot in your leather jackets or nerdy with your glasses, I want you when you laugh and I want you when you’re stroppy”

Zayn chuckles. “I’m never stroppy”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You spend ninety per cent of your time being stroppy”

Zayn doesn’t answer, because Harry’s right. He doesn’t say it out loud though.

If just looking at Harry’s face around his crotch made Zayn hard, Zayn feels very close to exploding now that Harry is insistently rolling his hips forwards, both their erections catching onto each other, eliciting moans that Zayn didn’t even know either of them could produce.

“What do you want, Zayn?” Harry whispers, his voice already wrecked and rough.

Zayn sighs, trying to pull Harry impossibly closer. “I want you to fuck me” he says, because they’re speaking, they’re together, they’re doing this, Harry doesn’t want just _part_ , he wants _Zayn_.

Harry nods. “Okay, okay. But next time you fuck me”

“We can do this until we can hardly walk and our hair is falling out for all I care” Zayn says, backing towards the bed until he feels the edge of the mattress against the back of his knees.

Harry chuckles. “So extreme” he says “Might do for a good song line though”

“Then remember it, ‘cause I’m about to even forget my own name” Zayn retorts, and kisses him again just to shut him up.

Harry pushes him on the bed, and Zayn lands on his back, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest when Harry lowers himself on him and straddles him, going for another lazy kiss while his long fingers roam under the hem of Zayn’s t-shirt.

“Pez said that if you’re not okay with the fake engagement we can just drop the act once and for all”

Zayn says it in a rush, like he wants to get the words out before they get lost between Harry’s wicked fingers.

Harry raises his head to meet Zayn’s eyes. “Do _you_ want to keep up the act a bit longer?”

Zayn shrugs. “I’ve already had a thousand rows with Paul and Simon and whomever. I’m tired of fighting with them. So it might be easier. For now”

Harry nods. “Then keep having a fiancé” he grins, sliding down Zayn’s body until his face is over his hardening dick “As long as _this_ is only mine from now on”

Zayn shivers. “I don’t even remember a time when it wasn’t yours, babe” he says, and maybe, just maybe, he’s not only talking about his dick.

Harry smiles and pulls Zayn’s waistband down. “I like that answer” he replies, with a cocky grin that doesn’t match the emotion and shakiness in his voice.

Zayn holds out a hand, drives his fingers through Harry’s curls, which are getting longer.

“Ain’t you cutting your hair anymore?”

Harry shakes his head. “I wanna make it get super long before I cut it again”

Zayn laughs. “Why?”

“’Cause you can pull it better if it’s long” Harry replies shamelessly, and Zayn feels the implications right through his dick.

That Harry likes it rough, that Harry thinks they’ll still be doing this when his hair will be long.

“Are you sure about this, Zayn?” Harry asks, his warm breath hitting Zayn’s already too hard dick “We can stop if you’re not sure. I can go back to my room and pretend none of this ever happened. Well, I can’t. But I’ll try if it’s what you want”

“I want you” Zayn says, slowly sitting up “I want you, I wanted you yesterday, I want you today and I’ll want you tomorrow”

Harry smiles, and Zayn uses his index to poke one of his dimples. Harry smiles even wider, and rises up just for a moment, just to kiss Zayn again before he ducks down to swallow Zayn’s dick whole.

“Oh, fuck” Zayn hisses.

Harry somehow manages to smile again around a mouthful of dick, and swirls his tongue around the head, slowly, torturously slowly, until Zayn can’t restrain himself anymore and grabs two fistfuls of Harry’s curls. He doesn’t pull at them and he doesn’t use them to guide Harry’s head, not yet, because he’s already enjoying it too much.

Zayn doesn’t know how long Harry keeps bobbing his head up and down on his dick, because he’s too busy concentrating on not coming too embarrassingly quickly, but at some point Harry’s mouth is gone, and he raises a set of dark eyes up to Zayn. Zayn feels a new wave of pleasure just noticing how swollen Harry’s mouth is. He’s never quite seen Harry, his Haz, like this.

“You can fuck my mouth if you want” Harry says.

So Zayn does. He brings Harry’s face on his dick again, and although he’s in no position to properly thrust his hips with the way he’s sitting in the middle of the bed, he pushes Harry’s head up and down, finally pulling at the curls Harry is apparently growing for the purpose, while Harry swallows and hollows his cheeks, his green eyes watering but never leaving Zayn’s.

It’s too much. The position, the way Harry seems to have a total lack of a gag reflex, and how the back of his throat flutters around Zayn every time he pushes Harry’s head further down.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come” Zayn grits out “Haz, babe, stop, I don’t wanna come yet”

Harry does. He releases Zayn’s dick from the absurdly tight heat of his mouth, and crawls all over him. Zayn kisses him again just because he finally can, and he tastes himself on Harry’s tongue.

“I’m clean” Harry says after a moment “But we can use a condom anyway, if you don’t like the… mess”

It takes Zayn a moment to register what Harry means, and he nods after he gets it. “Yeah, okay. Maybe it’s best”

Harry frowns, his eyes searching Zayn’s in a way that makes him feel even more naked and exposed than they already are. “Zayn, have you ever… like, with a guy?”

Zayn reluctantly tells the truth and shakes his head.

Harry sighs. “Are you _sure_ you wanna do this?” he asks “We can… do it the other way round. I don’t mind”

“Harry, I’m not made of fucking glass, yeah?” Zayn scoffs, maybe a bit harsher than he actually intends “I’m okay. I wanna do it this way. I trust you” he amends, more gently.

Harry stares at him for what feels like a year. And then he nods, laying Zayn down and kissing him senseless. “Do you have stuff?” Harry asks after a while.

Zayn nods, and completes the absurdly hard task of rummaging through a drawer with Harry’s lanky frame on top of him and restraining his movements. He retrieves lube and a condom, pushing the two items in Harry’s hand. Harry eyes the lube with half a grin.

Zayn shrugs. “I feel alone sometimes. And I can’t pull people like the rest of you” he says bitterly.

Harry just kisses him again. “Pulling’s been over for both of us for quite a long time, babe” he says.

Zayn watches him dribble lube onto his fingers, and then he feels one of them prod at his entrance. Zayn clenches at the foreign feeling, and Harry shushes him, kissing the inside of his thigh. “Can you relax, babe? For me?” he asks in barely a whisper, his lips brushing Zayn’s skin at every syllable.

Zayn nods, and obeys. Harry slides a finger in, and it doesn’t really hurt, but it’s not pleasant either.

It’s not until Harry has three fingers in that Zayn starts to feel the pain and the pleasure. They mix together so well it’s unreal, like Zayn’s being split open but there’s _something_ inside of him that wants Harry to push deeper and faster, something boiling in the pit of his stomach at the mere thought of Harry replacing his fingers with his dick.

“I think I’m ready” Zayn hisses out, his hips starting to grind down without his actual control.

Harry nods. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

Zayn nods, and watches Harry roll the condom on himself, squeezing a bit at the base. He’s massive, and hard, and Zayn really doesn’t know how it’s supposed to _fit_ , but he knows that when Harry starts to enter him, it fucking hurts.

“Do you want me to stop?” Harry asks, going in painfully slowly, his eyes fixated on Zayn’s face while his hands grab him by the hips to steady him.

Zayn shakes his head. “No, no, don’t fucking dare, keep going” he answers, and he means it, because it does hurt, but the thought of Harry being even an inch farther away from where he is now is unbearable.

It hurts even more when Harry bottoms out with a shaky sigh, like it’s taking him all he has to be so slow and attentive. Zayn will ask him to be rougher another time. Now it’s gotta be slow, because he feels like there’s a scorching iron shoved inside his guts, and it’s not pleasant.

He breathes through his nose, slowly, while Harry does the same.

Even more slowly, the pain starts to subside. Once it’s better, Zayn tentatively grinds down his hips, the rocking motion making him hiss and Harry’s arms tremble from where he’s tensing them to keep himself up, on each side of Zayn’s head.

Zayn nods. “Move, Haz, move” he urges him.

Harry does, very very slowly, just a slight rocking against Zayn’s hips, and it still hurts, but the _something_ inside Zayn is tingling, like it needs to be hit and he’ll come right that second.

He knows every man has it, but he never cared to look for his. If he’d known it felt this good, he would have done it earlier.

He begs Harry for more and faster, and Harry, to his credit, doesn’t ask again if Zayn’s sure. He just gives him what he’s asking, and _God_ , when he hits that spot, Zayn feels like lightning is shooting through his fucking veins, making everything black out and burst with light all at once.

He comes, untouched, and Harry gasps, his breath uneven as he curses and comes as well, probably because Zayn is clenching so hard around him that he thinks if he does it just a tiny bit more, he’ll rip his dick clean off.

“Jesus, Zayn, you’re…” Harry doesn’t finish his sentence, just keeps coming, filling the condom, and it’s hot, so hot, Harry collapsing over him, Zayn’s come between their chests making a disgusting squelching sound, but Zayn doesn’t really care.

“I’m gonna pull out” Harry says.

Zayn doesn’t know why he even warns him, but then he understands. It’s uncomfortable now that Harry’s soft and Zayn’s so sore. Harry is as gentle as he can with it, and Zayn feels empty when he’s gone. “I wanna do it again” he says to Harry’s back, while he ties the condom and chucks it into the bin.

Harry laughs. “Easy there, Terminator” he says “Let’s talk about it in half an hour when you’ll feel like your arse is falling off”

He throws himself on the bed next to Zayn, and Zayn feels a pang of jealousy at the thought that Harry knows what it feels because he’s already done it, a lot for what Zayn can tell, and Zayn can’t bear the thought of something so intimate happening between Harry and _someone else_.

“Just mine, now” he says, and he doesn’t mean to, he just means to think it and reassure himself of it, but the words are in the air now, and Zayn can’t put them back in his mouth.

Harry just sighs and settles himself by Zayn’s side, his face in the crook of his neck. “Yeah” he murmurs “Just yours. It was always meant to be”

 

\---

 

**2014**

_June_

Harry is, quite frankly, pissed at Zayn.

He watches him go about the stage in apathy, waving at fans like it’s just muscle memory, which it probably is, but Zayn shouldn’t, because that show is probably the most important of the tour.

They’re in Milan, at San Siro, and the show’s being _filmed_ , for Christ’s sake. Harry has spotted the camera drones fly around his head right from minute one, when they’ve come out to deafening screams and he’s sung _Straight off the plane to a new hotel_ without the music. It had been a mistake the first time they started _Midnight Memories_ like that, but then everybody had agreed it was fucking brilliant, so now they do it on purpose.

They’re halfway through the concert now, and Zayn’s still there, moving and singing like he’s running on fumes. Harry understands him, he really does. They’re all tired, and Zayn is the most tired of them all, because Julian’s been waking him up non-stop in the middle of the night to fix the new recordings, but really.

This show is important. The band is important. And Zayn looks like sometimes he doesn’t even care.

Harry doesn’t even want Zayn to go up to him and be his usual sexual self or whatever. They’ve tuned that down from the moment they started being sexual in their beds a year ago. Paul knows, of course he knows, like the lads. He’d taken one brief look at them the morning after their very first time, and he’d arched his eyebrows, saying “You can do whatever the fuck you want when you’re alone, but the ambiguous flirting in public stops today”.

So they have stopped. Harry doesn’t mind, because even if they can’t rub crotches and eat candy thongs off each other on stage, they have each other naked and alone when it counts.

There have been instances where Zayn has had Harry on his hands and knees in the middle of the bed, fucking him from behind while holding his hair like it was reins, while Harry screamed and moaned like a fucking porn-star, only for them to go on stage barely an hour later, looking perfectly normal if not for the bite marks and bruises they both had under their clothes.

There have been moments where Zayn has been so frustrated with everything going on with the band and himself, that Harry has held him down on the mattress and fucked the living daylights out of him until Zayn was crying and gagging for it, begging for more and moaning that he could tolerate everything forever if Harry just kept fucking him like that.

So no, Harry doesn’t want Zayn to even look at him on stage that night, that’s not the problem. The problem is that the fans are noticing Zayn is off, because Harry can see their frowns whenever he walks where Zayn has just passed. They don’t know he’s off because he’s had another row with Julian about lyrics he’s written that Julian doesn’t deem ‘fit’ for the new album, but they don’t need to know after all.

They need to see Zayn being Zayn, smouldering because that’s his face, and _nothing more_.

So when they finish _Moments_ , and the five of them gather in the middle of the stage to look at the fan questions on the big screens, Harry just does what he does best.

He riles Zayn up.

“If you could be a girl for twenty-four hours, what would you do?” Liam reads out loud, and Harry grins at him “Harry Styles, you got an answer for us, what is it?”

Harry doesn’t even glance at Zayn. “I’d do Niall” he says.

Harry knows that it’s not even a full second of silence after he gives his answer, but he feels like time stretches. Niall is faking a proud expression, but his eyes are scolding Harry a little bit, like, _that wasn’t really necessary, Haz_.

Liam snorts a laugh and murmurs “Oh God”, scratching his temple with the hand that holds his mic and walking away. It brings Zayn completely in Harry’s line of sight.

Zayn’s staring at him, his eyes clouded, and his lovely jaw is set. Harry holds his gaze, smiling and daring him to just take a step, say a word. Zayn doesn’t.

Liam makes a joke about that answer going to be all over Twitter in the morning, and Harry adds an “Happy Pride” waving his hand, just to be safe. He holds his fist out to Niall, and Niall bumps it. Louis is lightly shaking his head at Harry, his eyes full of mirth like he’s telling Harry _you’re a little shit, look at the poor lad_.

Harry does look at Zayn again, and Zayn is trying to laugh with the others as the fans lose their fucking minds and scream louder than before.

“I’m really interested to hear was _Zayn_ has to say for this one” Liam offers, walking towards Zayn with barely contained hilarity and throwing a hand around Zayn’s shoulders.

It’s not the best of calls, because Zayn is clearly not amused and already sending daggers to Harry with his eyes. Liam, oblivious, holds his own mic to Zayn’s mouth. “Um, I… I’m just, like, blown away. I don’t have any comments” Zayn says, and Harry sees him laugh, fake, but laughing.

_Good_ , he thinks. He knows it’s not good for Zayn, to be so fake all the time. _Just give me_ this _show, and then you can be angry and stroppy all you want_ , he begs Zayn without even speaking.

Zayn understands, though. He arches an eyebrow. “Really?” he mouths at Harry.

Harry nods, making his chin tilt stubbornly.

It’s a blur after that, as they all get ready for _Strong_. But as the song is about to start, Harry saunters to Zayn and grabs him by an elbow. “Chin up, babe. If riling you up can make you look like you _feel_ something, then I don’t care if you get angry at me. You can be good now, and be angry at me _later_ ”

He distinctly hears Zayn growl, while they both hide their mics behind their backs. “Being good is all I do, Harry. I feel like I’m about to explode, why can’t you understand it?” Zayn murmurs to his ear.

Harry winces, feeling the pain sitting in Zayn’s stomach every day lately. He understands, he does. But they can’t _show_ it. “You can explode later, babe. When we’re alone. You know I got you” he says, and then adds “ _’Cause we are who we are when no one’s watching_ , babe”

And that’s what’s really wrong with Zayn that night, Harry knows. He fucking _loves_ Zayn’s song, he’s even tried to convince Julian to put it in the album, to no avail. But they, Zayn and Harry, can keep the song to themselves and be happy anyway, because the song’s for them both, Zayn wrote it looking at Harry naked between his sheets, and that’s what they really are.

Zayn sighs and nods. “I know, Haz. It’s the only thing I know, feels like”

 

*

 

_November_

Zayn is a shadow of himself, and it worries Harry senseless, but he cannot confront Zayn about it, because he’s afraid Zayn will snap once and for fucking all, and break forever.

So Harry looks at him while they get dressed in Harry’s hotel room for the AMAs, feeling frustrated and scared beyond remedy. Dropping the word ‘weigh’ in _Little Things_ isn’t enough, nothing is enough if he doesn’t ask, and Zayn doesn’t speak.

There’s something, small and ugly, buried deep in Harry’s brain, that whispers a constant line of _Zayn wants to leave, he needs to leave, you should let him go_ , but Harry is not even ready to start contemplating the option that Zayn is not happy with him and the band anymore.

They need to _endure_ , just for a little while longer.

Then they can take the break Simon and Julian have promised them, after the last leg of the tour. They can go home and finally rest, have time to be normal. Zayn will eat normally again, he will rest, and they will decide where to go after that.

So, for now, just for a little while longer, Harry tears his eyes away from the ribs he can practically count under Zayn’s skin as they wear their shirts in front of the mirror. Zayn’s not looking at his own reflection, he’s looking at Harry’s.

Harry sees him gape a little, something akin to blushing adorning his still lovely cheekbones. It’s been ages since Zayn blushed. _You’re okay, babe, you’re gonna be just fine_ , Harry tells Zayn in his head.

“Is this…” Zayn chokes a bit on his spit and gulps down, brushing the hem of Harry’s shirt “Is this a kurta?”

Harry grins. “Yep” he announces “’S cool, right? I thought you might like me in Pakistani clothes”

“Fuck” Zayn breathes out, his breath gushing out of his mouth and warming a spot right on Harry’s chest.

Zayn’s hands run up the black material and the silver embroideries curving around the buttons on the front. “Fuck, Haz” Zayn sighs, smiling “You did this for _me_?”

Harry shrugs. “Everything I do is for you, Zayn. I thought you’d gotten that, like, five years ago”

Zayn chuckles, and grabs a fistful of Harry’s hair to pull him down and kiss him, getting rid of the small height difference between them. “You’re a fucking menace” Zayn mutters on his lips “How am I supposed to fucking behave if you’re going about in these clothes?”

Harry grins. “If we win” he states “I’ll let you fuck me with the shirt on”

Zayn doesn’t even reply. His hand goes directly for Harry’s dick, and well, Harry knows Zayn is not at his best form right now, but he thinks he’d be turned on by Zayn even if Zayn had no legs, no arms, no hair, no ears. So of course Harry’s been already hard for ages, watching Zayn shrug his suit on like it’s not one of the most expensive things he’s ever worn, like it’s just jeans and a t-shirt, because Zayn couldn’t tell a Gucci from an Armani, and because he doesn’t fucking care about it.

Harry moans a bit when Zayn gives him a stroke over the fabric of his trousers, but then he feels himself harden even more. “No” he forces himself to say “We’re already late. Lou will have our heads if we look too much like we just shagged each other raw against a wall”

Zayn shivers. “Hold that thought for later” he whispers, kissing Harry again “Okay. Then let’s go. Is Lux here with Lou? I know Caroline brought Brook”

Harry smiles. He’s never been happier to nod in Zayn’s direction, because he knows Zayn is not okay, but the kids make him feel better, always have, since they were born. And when Harry plays with Lux and Zayn and Brooklyn, if he’s feeling particularly sentimental, he can just imagine them in the future, with a couple of kids of their own, and with Zayn’s bones perfectly covered by flesh again.

They go to the room where Lou’s all set up, and they let her have her way with their hair and faces because there’s just no point in fighting her, and Harry can’t keep his eyes off Zayn, playing with Lux on his lap and protecting her eyes with his hand every time Lou sprays something in his hair.

He’s smiling his old smile, the one that doesn’t come out quite as often anymore when they’re not alone, the smile the fans have explicitly said they miss. If only they knew just how close they all are to losing it forever.

When they’re done, Caroline shows them their other clothes, the ones they’ll have to change into if they win and have to perform.

Zayn’s eyes bulge out when Caro hands him a golden belt. “What’s this? A noose in case I decide to hang myself?” he asks.

Harry winces, because he knew the strop was just waiting the tiniest reason to manifest itself.

Caroline sighs. “It will look great, Zayn, I promise”

“Over my dead fucking body” Zayn mutters, only mouthing the ‘fucking’ part, and covering Lux and Brook’s ears anyway.

Caroline rolls her eyes. “Please. Try it on? Just try it on and look at yourself in the mirror and tell me if it looks ridiculous”

Zayn grunts something unintelligible and goes behind a changing screen to remove the clothes he just put on. When he emerges again, he’s sporting a riotous expression, and he looks at himself in the mirror.

None of them speaks a word. Zayn looks amazing, but again, Harry’s not the best judge, because Zayn always looks amazing to him.

Zayn sighs. “Okay. You win”

Caroline laughs. “I knew you would see reason” she says, although they all know that no one ever knows _that_ for sure.

Zayn doesn’t bother going behind the screen to change back into his original clothes. He just strips down right in the middle of the room, while the two kids laugh and blabber and clap at him. Harry honestly shares the sentiment. His fingers itch to help Zayn undress, like he always does, but he can’t. Lou and Caro don’t know, although he thinks they probably understood and just care too much about them to mention it. Officially, nobody knows. Only Paul, and the lads. Not even Julian, and God forbid, not Simon.

They’re careful. _We are who we are when no one’s watching_ , Harry sings to himself like a mantra, like Zayn sung to him that night in some country which looked exactly like every other, in a hotel room that looked exactly like every other too. Harry has just stopped looking at the rooms, because as long as they have Zayn in them, they’re okay.

When Zayn’s done re-dressing himself, a loose strand of hair is falling in his eyes, having detached himself from the rest of his carefully-styled hair.

“Oh, sorry” he tells Lou, blowing on the strand.

Lou sighs. “Don’t be. It’s even better this way”

Harry wholeheartedly agrees, and in the next days he learns that so does the rest of the fucking world, because Twitter blows up with hashtags and posts and pics about Zayn’s single strand of hair.

 

\---

 

**2015**

_March_

Zayn can’t fucking breathe.

The crowd is deafening as they walk through the railings and out of the arena, strangers’ hands touching him, trying to grab him as he forces himself to sign autographs and smile and be Zayn Malik From One Direction.

Harry’s just feet ahead of him, being Harry Styles From One Direction, smiling and engaging in _How are you_ s and _Did you like the show_ s and _Hope you’re okay_ s.

They make it out of it alive, as they always do, although Zayn doesn’t honestly feel that alive, hasn’t been in months.

The cheating rumours aren’t stopping, made out from thin fucking air with fake pics. And he can’t talk to Perrie anymore, Perrie’s cross at him for assuring her he could keep going with the act and then being papped with random girls and making her look like the woman who’s being cheated on.

_The pics ain’t real_ , he’s tried to tell her. But Perrie’s at her limit too, the acting and smiling and waving getting to her as well, so she hasn’t wanted any explanation, and she’s just told Zayn to please vanish from her fucking life.

He’s lost Perrie, he’s lost his freedom, he’s lost his fucking appetite.

He only feels alive when he’s with Harry, naked and alone with him in any room in any nameless city, but it’s not enough, not anymore. Harry looks at him with pity, tries to ask Zayn what’s wrong, but every time he chokes on his words, because Harry _knows_. He knows what’s wrong with Zayn, and Zayn understands that Harry’s not ready to say it out loud, but if only Harry could fucking _speak and ask_ even once, Zayn would feel better.

He never does, though.

And Zayn can’t fucking breathe.

So when they get to the hotel, he nods at Harry to tell him he’ll see him later in his room. It’s always Harry’s room lately.

And just as he’s about to go exactly there, his feet make him detour.

He finds himself in front of Simon’s room.

It’s only a case, a coincidence, that Simon’s visiting them that night. But maybe it’s not.

Zayn can’t handle his own life anymore, so he chooses to believe it’s a sign.

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket, but he doesn’t check it. He knows what he’d find. A text from Harry, asking _Where are you? I’m waiting for you._

Instead of looking for the phone, he knocks on Simon’s door.

In the barely three seconds it takes for Simon to open it, Zayn’s mind replays their whole show. He understands why he’s felt worse than before every time he’s opened his mouth to sing his verses that night. He understands why he’s cried, right there in front of thousands of people, when he’s learned so well to keep it down.

He understands why he’s been the one to ask for a group hug at the end of the show.

It’s only led towards this exact moment, to Simon opening the door with a sleepy expression, arching his eyebrows when he sees it’s Zayn, knocking in the middle of the night.

Zayn doesn’t give him time to ask anything. “You might want to call Julian” he says, willing his voice not to shake “I have something to tell you two”

 

*

 

When he goes out of Simon’s room, Zayn feels his hand go numb, the hand with which he signed paper after paper, crouched over Simon’s bedside table.

He feels his phone buzz again, but again he doesn’t check it.

He knocks on another door, Louis’s, knowing that he’ll find him with Liam and Niall, but not Harry. Harry’s waiting for him, he’d wait the whole night if Zayn wanted him to, and the knowledge has been refreshing for a long time. Now he just feels pity, for Harry and for himself.

“Zed?” Louis asks, frowning upon opening the door “What… what are you doing here?”

“Can I come in? I have to tell you something”

Louis nods, and moves from the threshold to let Zayn in.

Liam and Niall are there as Zayn had foreseen. Zayn tries to smile, but it sits ugly and wrong on his face.

“Mate, are you okay?” Liam asks.

Zayn shakes his head. “I’m leaving” he says “I just signed the papers with Simon and Julian. Tonight was my last show”

None of them replies for a moment. Then Louis sighs. “I kinda figured it out already” he admits.

Zayn frowns. “Have you? ‘Cause I hadn’t figured it out myself yet an hour ago”

Louis shrugs. “You cried tonight. You never cry. And you asked for a group hug”

Zayn doesn’t reply.

“Have you told Haz?”

It’s Niall who asks.

Zayn shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ll… I’ll tell him in a while”

“When are you leaving?” Liam asks, and his voice breaks.

Zayn sighs, and is afraid to pull him in a hug, but Liam’s having none of it, and just throws himself in Zayn’s arms, sighing shakily against his neck. “You’re leaving right now, ain’t you?” Liam murmurs. Zayn feels his tears stain his neck.

Zayn nods. That’s another thing he didn’t know before. “Yes” he says “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to end like this”

“We just want you to be okay, Zed” Niall mutters “If leaving can make you feel better, then go. You’re leaving the band, it’s not like you’re leaving _us_ ”

He says the last sentence like it’s a question. “Of course” Zayn quickly replies “I… we’re more than this, yeah? We’re actual friends, ain’t we? Me leaving the band doesn’t mean I don’t wanna see you or talk to you anymore”

He’s also saying things like they’re questions, and Zayn knows that those three will understand. He’s not sure about the other member of the band, though.

“You have to tell Harry” Niall says, more sternly “Explicitly. Tell him that you’re not leaving him. Zayn, I love you. But if you break Harry, you’re dead to me”

Zayn feels his heart constrict, because Niall never speaks to anyone like that. Niall doesn’t do threats and revenge, he just doesn’t. But Niall’s also probably the only person on Earth Harry tells his real problems to. All his real worries, his real fears, everything _real_ goes from Harry to Niall, and to Zayn too, but only to an extent, because love turns things into taboos for fear of losing the other, and that’s the reason Harry can’t speak to Zayn, and Zayn can’t speak to Harry.

Zayn nods anyway. “Yeah. I won’t, Niall. I promise”

 

*

 

Zayn goes to Harry, eventually. He smokes maybe ten cigarettes, and then runs to Harry’s room like someone’s chasing him.

It’s four in the morning, but Harry answers the door in a moment, like he hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

He hasn’t, Zayn notices. He still has his clothes from the show on. He hasn’t even _tried_.

Zayn’s losing weight, Harry’s losing sleep. Niall’s losing kindness, Liam’s losing happiness, Louis’s losing mirth. They’re all fucking losing, and Zayn doesn’t want to lose Harry, not now, not ever.

So Zayn doesn’t speak. Not yet.

He kisses Harry, pushes him backwards to the bed, and they do the only thing they can do without speaking.

_‘Cause we are who we are when no one’s watching_ , Zayn thinks as Harry fucks him slowly, not uttering a word.

_I love you, babe_ , he thinks as Harry makes him come twice. None of them speaks.

Not until they’re done and wearing their underwear again, at least.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong, Zayn?” Harry asks.

But Harry _knows_ , and Zayn doesn’t want to say it. He shakes his head.

Harry stares at him for a long moment. Harry _knows_ , and he’s not stupid, he’s one of the most clever people Zayn has ever fucking met. “You’re leaving?” Harry asks, sitting up, his eyelids trembling.

Zayn nods.

“Fucking look at me, Zayn” Harry grunts “Look at me and tell me you’re fucking leaving _to my face_ ”

Zayn looks at Harry, forces himself. He hates the _thing_ he sees in Harry’s eyes, because it’s not hate, but it’s close to it. And Zayn loves him, loves him so much it hurts, and that’s part of the problem too.

“You’re really leaving” Harry says, defeated, releasing a bitter chuckle “In the middle of a fucking world tour. I can’t fucking believe you’re doing this to us, Zayn. You even already signed all the fucking papers, didn’t you? Right now, while I was texting you to make sure you didn’t go hang yourself or summat”

“I’m just leaving the band, Haz” Zayn utters.

Harry laughs. It’s an ugly sound, it’s wrong, it’s deafening. “ _Just_?” he asks “ _Just_ the band? You’re not _just_ leaving the band, you’re leaving _me_ ”

“I don’t wanna leave you, Haz. It’s not like I wanna go away never to see any of you again. It’s the _job_ that I’m leaving” Zayn rushes the words out, because Harry already _knows_ , but maybe if he _tells_ him explicitly like Niall said, Zayn’s not gonna lose him. Not gonna lose the only important thing he gained from all _that_.

Harry stands up from the bed. “I told you we were gonna get a break after this tour. I asked you to wait just a few more months, but you can’t even give me that” he says coldly.

Zayn stands up too, and he feels a gush of fucking _anger_ at Harry’s words. “I gave you _everything_!” he shouts, and he wants to cry, but he can’t, _can’t can’t can’t_. “I gave you all I have, to you, to the lads, to the band, to _everyone_! I gave them my songs, but they weren’t any good to them. I sing about stupid stuff every night, but it’s not good enough anyway. I gave up my fucking clothes, let other people decide what I’m gonna wear, but I shut up about that too, because you were there to understand me. You, Harry, only you, have been the only _real_ thing in this whole shitshow for me”

Harry wavers, physically, like Zayn’s words are not just words, but punches to his guts. For a split second, Zayn thinks he’s done it, he’s told Harry, and they’re gonna be okay.

But they’re not, and Zayn _knows_.

“I'm not” Harry says, shaking his head “You gave me good dick for two years, but you can’t even say out loud what you feel for me. You sing with us every night, but you hate every second of it, and when we ask you what’s wrong, you say _nothing_ and expect me to read your fucking mind. The truth is that you don’t care about any of this. You don’t care about the band, and you don’t care about _me_ ”

Zayn never thought much about hearts breaking. He sung the words for it every day, not meaning any of them, because he’s always found it stupid. You can feel pain, but your heart isn’t _actually_ breaking, because you’d be dead if it was.

Now Zayn understands hearts _can_ indeed break, and yes, you’re dead afterwards. Because that’s exactly how he feels now.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Harry” he grits out, and he cries now “I _only_ care about you. And if I never told you what was really wrong with me, it was because if I did, you would have dropped out of this band and this job in a fucking second, and I don’t want that for you or the lads, because you really enjoy what we do. I don’t, and I have to go away before it kills me”

_You don’t know, Harry, you don’t know it’s making me sick. You only see I’m sad, you don’t know I’m not eating and I’m sick and I’m dead._

“Then go” Harry says, and he’s not crying “And don’t come back. You’re not just leaving the job, you’re leaving all of us. And _me_ ”

And because Zayn is dead and dying on repeat, he goes.

 

*

 

_July_

Harry’s very happy about a lot of things.

_Drag Me Down_ is fucking sick. They release it without any kind of promo, and they watch it climb the charts in the span of an eyeblink.

The album is also great. They wrote most of it. It’s cool what you accomplish when you show your producers that you’re about to lose it. Magically, they let you keep whatever you wanna keep in terms of lyrics, music, even clothes.

They announce the hiatus after the release of _Drag Me Down_. Harry knows ‘hiatus’ is an understatement, because he really doubts this ‘break’ is gonna be short enough to be called that.

Hell, they’re gonna be extremely lucky if they ever go back.

Harry’s very happy.

He shows it in interviews, concerts, privately.

He has all he wants. He’s got a last album for One Direction. He’s got the lads. He’s got baby Lux to coo over, and he’s got new songs he keeps for himself and no one scolds him for hiding lyrics.

He’s got _If I Could Fly_ right in the middle of the album, and _Walking In The Wind_ at the end of it, right where he wants them.

He’s got a last performance at the X-Factor, right where he started and wants to end. Simon tells them how much they’ve grown, what a fucking pleasure it’s been to work with them, that they deserve the break. Harry stares at him, hoping his eyes burn a hole through Simon Cowell’s retinas, and he tells him with his eyes, _You ruined us. You let him go_ , because telling Simon _that_ is better than coming to terms with the fact that he’s just the same, _he_ let Zayn go just the same.

He has it all, but he hasn’t got Zayn.

Never Zayn.

Never again.


	2. Part 2 - Even my phone misses your call, by the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s devastated, Zayn” Liam tells him after a moment “He was wrecked before, but when I saw him this morning, he was just… broken”  
> “I am too” Zayn answers, and he knows it’s petty and petulant, but he needs to say it “He broke me. Again”  
> “You keep breaking each other, babe” Liam replies “Harry broke you because he was too busy trying to heal himself in the wrong way to notice that you’re just as broken”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual disclaimer: I don't know or own any of the characters present in this work.
> 
> The title of this chapter is taken from _From The Dining Table_ by Harry Styles.  
> The rest of the songs quoted and mentioned in this chapter belong to Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, and One Direction.

 

 

 

**2016**

_January_

Sometimes Zayn actively, genuinely thinks there’s something wrong with his brain.

Like right now, for example.

He should be happy, shouldn’t he? He met Gigi, and she’s amazing, and she’s probably madly in love with him, and Zayn should just love her back, because she deserves it and it would be so fucking easy. She doesn’t ask for much. They’re together, they’re dating, and she knows Zayn doesn’t love her. She knows more than she should, to be honest, because just two days after the _Pillowtalk_ video came out and they went out to celebrate, Zayn had gotten far too drunk and had spent the night crying in her arms about missing things he shouldn’t miss.

And Zayn had honestly thought that would be the last he’d see of Gigi, amazing Gigi with the long legs and the warm heart, but he’d never been so wrong, because next day there she was again, like nothing had happened, like Zayn hadn’t told her he was in love with someone whose name he couldn’t even pronounce.

They’re together, and she doesn’t ask Zayn to love her back. She just wants Zayn to be there for her, and most of the time he manages, but sometimes he doesn’t.

Like right now. He should be asleep next to her, and instead he’s smoking in the armchair under his porch at three in the bloody morning.

He could say he’s writing, but he would lie to himself, because he’s never been less inspired, and the album’s supposed to come out in three months. Except no, it’s another lie, because he _is_ inspired. The problem is that everything he writes screams _his_ name as clear as day, even Gigi told him, and no, he can’t be that obvious, because it’ll hurt not only him, but everyone else as well.

‘Everyone else’ meaning ‘the people he doesn’t see or talk to anymore’.

So he’s there at three in the bloody morning, chain-smoking and gripping his phone in his hand, a breath away from googling _him_ just to see what he’s doing, if _he_ ’s even on the tabloids.

Zayn has avoided the internet like it’s a disease, has done everything in his power not to _know_ what _he_ is doing.

Because he knows how that ends for him.

He’s been in therapy. He’s healed, and he was doing so good, and then as soon as Liam had mentioned _him_ during one of their sporadic phone calls, Zayn hadn’t been able to eat more than a fucking cracker for a week. He’s risked having to do it all over again, the therapy and the coping and the healing. It hasn’t come to that because Gigi was there, but had he been alone, he honestly doesn’t know how _that_ would have fared.

So after that he’s talked to Liam, and Louis. Sometimes Niall. But he’s been quick to shut them up as soon as he’s heard even the ‘H’ at the start of _his_ name. They mostly haven’t mentioned him voluntarily, but that’s not saying anything, because Zayn doesn’t speak to them that often to know how things even are between them and _him_.

He hasn’t talked to Liam and Louis in three months. Hasn’t talked to Niall in more. Hasn’t talked to _him_ since ever, feels like.

Zayn has definitely something wrong in his brain, because he could text Louis, but he just decides to google him.

What he sees crushes his fucking heart.

Louis had a _baby_. Freddie Reign Tomlinson, says Google. Louis has not even _mentioned_ Briana being pregnant last time they spoke. His throat feels full of cotton as he sees a picture of Louis, holding a new-born to his chest, his eyes looking at the baby like it’s the most precious thing in the world, and honestly, he fucking is.

He could have been _Uncle Zayn_ to that baby, but he isn’t, because he’s pushed Louis away, everyone away. It was the only thing he could do, but Louis never really understood it, and Zayn knows Louis didn’t tell him about Freddie _on purpose_ , because it meant Zayn would come to know it from the press like everybody else, because Zayn _is_ everybody else now. Louis knows how to hurt him so deep he never really recovers, and Zayn has always loved him for not using that knowledge, except now he has, and Zayn feels close to not breathing, closer than he’s ever been since the night he left the band.

A rustle and a whoosh of sweet perfume tells him Gigi just sat next to him, not speaking, just sighing.

“He had a baby” Zayn says, still looking at the picture.

Gigi sighs again. “I am honestly surprised you managed to not get even the smallest hint about this” she says quietly “It’s been all over the news for months, that Louis Tomlinson was gonna be a dad”

“I ended my data contract and asked my team to never mention the lads” he explains, lamely, because of course Gigi already knows.

“I’m sorry, babe” Gigi sighs, her small hand coming to pet Zayn’s hair “Maybe… you could call him?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I texted him. Three months ago. He didn’t answer”

The main reason Zayn should really be fucking in love with Gigi is that she never sugar-coats anything for him. She tells him if he’s saying bullshit, she tells him when he’s wrong. “He asked you to meet at least ten times before that, and _you_ never wanted to” she says pointedly. Not angrily, but harshly.

Zayn flinches. “I couldn’t, Gee, I just couldn’t bring myself to go. I was scared he… he was gonna be there”

Gigi knows he’s not speaking about Louis anymore, and sighs again. “Zayn, Harry was the best thing you fucking had, and if he’s become your greatest monster now, it’s only on you”

Zayn doesn’t answer. She’s right, he knows she is. She says _his_ name like it’s nothing, like those five letters don’t scratch _her_ fucking heart every time they’re pronounced, but she’s right.

“And Louis knows you like the back of his hand” Gigi adds “He was not gonna bring Harry without telling you”

 _And Harry would probably rather die than meet you again_ , she doesn’t say, but it’s there anyway.

Zayn still doesn’t answer. It’s almost completely dark, the only light coming from the moon and Zayn’s phone. Gigi’s only wearing her pyjamas under her coat, and it’s just a simple oversized t-shirt. She shivers, and pulls her knees to her chest, covering them with the hem of the t-shirt.

Zayn opens one of his arms, and she crawls under it, pressing her cheek to his chest. There’s not even one good reason why they’ve both decided to freeze outside instead of sulking inside the house, but none of them makes a move to go back.

“The baby’s cute” Gigi offers, her big eyes lighted by the white screen of Zayn’s phone.

Zayn feels himself smile despite it all. “He is. He called him Freddie. Freddie Reign” he tells her “He’s so small. I bet the fucker was scared senseless the first time he held him. Couldn’t even manage to take care of a fucking mic, just imagine Louis fucking Tomlinson handling new-borns”

Gigi chuckles, not pointing out Zayn has probably never said a sentence that long since they met.

There’s a link under the TMZ article about Louis’s baby. Zayn hasn’t read the title, but when his eyes fall on his phone again, _his_ name burns a fucking hole through his retinas.

 _Harry Styles, his reactions when Zayn Malik is mentioned_ , says the article.

“No, Zayn” Gigi says, but it’s too late.

He’s already clicked on the link. There’s not much text, just something about Harry Styles being bitter, but there’s a video. “Zayn” Gigi sighs, shifting under his arm but not daring to move.

Zayn has definitely something wrong in his brain, because he clicks on the YouTube link. Gigi sighs again, and stays right where she is. Zayn can’t even feel her breathing.

It’s a compilation of interview bits, from after Zayn left.

Harry looks fucking amazing. His hair is so much longer than the last time Zayn saw him, when he tore Zayn’s heart out and walked on it in his Chelsea boots. _‘Cause you can pull it better if it’s long_ , Harry had told him a lifetime earlier, when their only worry was if they could manage to fuck more than once before a show.

Zayn realizes he’s _thinking_ Harry’s name again. He doesn’t know if it’s a good sign, or a bad one.

The first bit is from one of the interviews the lads had while they were promoting the new album. Zayn has stayed clear of the songs, only heard _Drag Me Down_ because he’d looked the lyrics up beforehand and they seemed safe, but that’s it.

They’re in Spain, or somewhere where people are speaking Spanish. Harry’s just wearing a white t-shirt. Zayn frantically runs his eyes up and down his arms, to see if he got more tattoos. _Tell me you didn’t, I wanna know what they mean if you did_. There doesn’t seem to be any new ink on Harry’s arms, the arms that have held him down while Harry fucked him into the mattress, the hands that have left marks on his hips for days, sometimes weeks, on end.

Someone’s asking Harry how the album’s different now that there’s just four of them. Harry smirks and starts counting the band members on his fingers, like he’s pretending he doesn’t remember there was someone else with them.

He hears Gigi murmur a “Fuck”, but he doesn’t speak or move. The next bits are just the same. Different countries, different interviews, same counting on his fingers to find out who’s missing.

A blonde interviewer looks at the lads in the video. _“And obviously we gotta mention the Z-word, first album without…”_

 _“Zebra! Where?”_ Harry interrupts her with the fakest of smiles.

Zayn drops the phone, his hands are shaking so much. The video stops, and Zayn hopes, prays that his phone’s broken. He won’t ever buy another one if it is.

It’s not. Gigi sighs – it feels like it’s all she does with him, lately – and bends down, retrieving the abused device. She makes sure it still works, and closes all the apps before handing it back to Zayn.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks after a moment.

Zayn shakes his head. He doesn’t even know how to speak in that moment, doesn’t remember how the words sound on his tongue. He only remembers Harry’s taste on it, Harry’s lovely lips, the same lips that have apparently been smiling and smirking about Zayn leaving for months, while Zayn was spending all his time in a therapist’s office, alone and too thin and too fucking alone without him.

Gigi nods. “Okay. Let’s go to sleep, then, yeah?”

Zayn sighs. “I’m…” his voice fails him, he clears his throat and tries again “I’m gonna smoke another one and then I’ll come, I swear”

Gigi nods again. “Okay” she says, petting his hair again “You’re gonna be fine eventually, babe. I swear”

“I don’t fucking deserve you” Zayn utters “Why are you even with me? I’m not giving you anything”

Gigi sighs. “You’re giving me company. You’re letting me love you. I don’t care if you don’t love me back. I care about you too much to think about that”

She doesn’t give him time to reply, and she goes back inside.

Zayn shivers. He’s cold.

And for the first time since forever, he’s not just sad. He’s angry.

Before he can even realize what the fuck he’s doing, he opens a chat, a chat that he has relegated to the bottom of his messaging app for months and months.

 _Hazza babe_ , reads the chat. Zayn types.

_A zebra. A fucking zebra. That’s what I am to you. I hate you, Harry._

He sends it.

Harry has always had his read receipts deactivated, so Zayn won’t ever know if he reads the text, but he’s at least sure Harry received it. The app says so.

He doesn’t go back to Gigi after that. He spends another three hours smoking and looking at _Hazza babe_ on his phone, until dawn comes, until he’s tired and spent and torn.

He texts Niall. A simple _Ni? Can we talk?_ , because he wants to ask him what the fuck Harry’s doing, he just needs to know.

It’s only during the course of the day that he realizes Niall won’t answer, because he’s blocked Zayn.

 

*

 

_July_

“How’s the album coming along?” Louis asks Harry.

Harry smiles, too concentrated on holding little Freddie and watching him coo to care about the album. “It’s coming” he just says “Who’s your favourite uncle, huh? It’s not uncle Niall or uncle Liam, is it?” he asks the baby.

Freddie is just seven months old, so of course he can’t reply, but Harry likes to think that the way he smacks his little hand on Harry’s cheek is his way of saying _of course it’s you, uncle Haz_.

It’s nice, being in the setting sun with Louis and his kid, swinging in the hammocks on Louis’s backyard, away from anyone else, paps included.

“Are you still playing the hermit then?” Louis asks, and Harry is still too busy looking at Freddie, but he _feels_ Louis’s arched eyebrows.

He raises his head and smiles brightly. “I am, cheers. But I’m doing it in England and not in Jamaica anymore, so don’t be cross at me”

“Fucking off to fucking Jamaica on a fucking whim” Louis mutters predictably “You scared the shit out of me, Haz”

“I’m back now” Harry shrugs.

Neither of them says out loud that Harry _needed_ to fuck off, because it had gotten to the point where Harry couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror anymore. Because wherever he looked, he didn’t see himself. He saw chocolate eyes, black stubble, high cheekbones, pitch black hair.

Not that _that_ ’s changed. He still sees Zayn lurking behind every corner of his house. But Jamaica helped. He met a ton of new cool people. He met Mitch. He learned how to make his heartbreak become songs, because as much as One Direction has always sung about heartbreak, the lyrics Harry has written about it _before_ were never heartfelt.

And when his heart had broken, he’d realized he didn’t know how to turn it into a song.

Mitch had showed him how. Mitch is great.

“Are we gonna ignore the fact that you have a fit, cool bloke drooling after you and you don’t wanna do anything about it?” Louis asks innocently.

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t wanna do anything about it”

_It’s just that I don’t know if I can anymore. I don’t know if I can have Mitch’s hands on my body and not pretend they’re Zayn’s._

“Niall blocked him in January” he says.

Louis frowns. “Niall blocked Mitch? I didn’t even know they knew each other”

Harry shakes his head. “Not Mitch”

“Of course not Mitch” Louis grunts “Why should we talk about a lovely, adorable person when we can talk about Zayn Malik?”

Louis is very bitter, and Harry can’t really blame him. He looks at Freddie again, and he can’t even fathom not being there to meet that baby, not spending all the time he can with him so that he learns his name, his face, learns to trust him.

But Zayn hasn’t given Louis’s baby a single thought. He doesn’t speak to Louis anymore, but he’s bound to have seen the news at least. Harry had many doubts and questions about Zayn, but he hadn’t doubted even for a moment that Zayn would call Louis.

But he hasn’t. He’s fucked off to Italy with his new, hot girlfriend, shooting pic after pic because he’s okay, he has it all, he doesn’t miss anything. He doesn’t miss Louis, and he most certainly doesn’t miss Harry, if the last text Zayn has sent him is any indication.

“Why did Niall block Zayn in January and didn’t ever mention it, Harold?” Louis asks, rolling his eyes again, like he’s just humouring Harry.

“Because Zayn texted me in January”

Louis’s face falls. Harry doesn’t know if it’s because he’s surprised, or because he already knows it mustn’t have been a pleasant text, considering Harry’s grim face and the fact that Niall blocked Zayn afterwards.

“He texted you” Louis repeats.

Harry nods.

“What did he say? Is this why you fucked off to Jamaica without telling anyone if not _after_ you landed there?” Louis asks quickly, his blue eyes looking darker now that he’s about to be properly angry.

That’s another thing that has changed. Louis still laughs, and he’s still a bit of a shithead, but he looks older. He looks like he’s grown up, and it’s not Freddie, not entirely. Louis grew up the day Zayn stopped being there for him, Harry thinks.

“No” he answers “I mean. Zayn _in general_ is part of the reason I needed to get out. But it wasn’t the text, even if it broke my fucking heart all over again”

“What did he tell you, Harry?”

Harry shrugs. He fishes his phone from his pocket, making sure to still have a safe grip on Freddie, and scrolls through his chats. “You still have his fucking text?” Louis asks, defeated.

Harry nods. “I never delete any texts” he answers, but it’s just an excuse. If Harry was the person who deleted his chats, he would still have Zayn’s and only Zayn’s in there.

He sees _Zayn babe_ and opens it, tossing the phone to Louis. “Still have him saved like that too” Louis comments, his eyes scanning the single line Zayn has written to Harry in January.

“If I still spoke to him I’d fucking kill him” Louis comments, handing the phone back to Harry “Do you want me to block him too, Haz? I will if you want to. Zayn was never there after he left. You were. You disappeared from any tabloid, but you were still here for all of us, when really it should have been us being there for _you_. So if you want me to delete Zayn from my life once and for all, I will”

“No!” Harry exclaims, a bit overwhelmed by Louis’s clear statement of affection for him “No. I even begged Niall to unblock him, but he didn’t listen. I don’t want any of you to delete Zayn. I know he’s not speaking to you now, but he might. In the future. He’s alone, Louis. I don’t want him to be alone”

Louis scans Harry’s face for a moment. “He fucking broke you, and you don’t want him to be alone”

Harry shrugs. “It is what it is, Lou. I know he was just angry when he texted me. I know he’s stayed clear of any interview, and then somehow he saw how much of a dickhead I was in public after he left, and he got angry. I honestly can’t blame him”

“You never blame him, Haz” Louis says, taking Freddie from Harry’s arms to put him to sleep “And that’s exactly your problem. You’d rather wilt away than admit Zayn didn’t love any of us, you included”

It hurts, and a small part of Harry knows Louis is right, but he’s always had problems admitting things out loud, so he doesn’t. “I had you and you had me. He had no one”

“He could have!” Louis snaps in a hiss not to wake the kid up “He could have had _you_ , and the rest of us too, if he knew how to _keep_ our friendship after he left”

“He wasn’t okay, Lou” Harry says patiently “You know. It’s not his fault”

He doesn’t say the real words, because it’s Zayn’s truth to say. _He was sick, he had an eating disorder, he wasn’t just thin because he was very stressed_ , he should say, but Louis doesn’t need to know, doesn’t _want_ to know, like the other lads. They’ve stayed clear of any news regarding Zayn, and Harry will respect their choice and not speak, for once.

“Well, he’s okay now, isn’t he” Louis retorts “He’s okay, and yet I still don’t see no Zayn here claiming the title of ‘uncle’ I would still have given him for my son”

 

*

 

The conversation with Louis leaves Harry feeling jittery and empty at the same time.

He knows Louis’s right. He knows there was no way Zayn would try to keep in touch with Harry, but he’d thought Zayn would make an effort at least with the rest of the lads.

 _Maybe he is better off_ , he thinks pitifully as he looks at Zayn’s photoshoot in Naples with Gigi Hadid again. It’s already months old, but Harry still looks at it, has it saved in his fucking favourites. They look fucking amazing together.

Harry wonders if Zayn thinks about Harry’s hands and arms when he fucks her. If he scans new pictures of Harry looking for new tattoos in the same frantic way Harry does at least once a month.

Harry has definitely something wrong in his brain, because he takes a decision, and he already knows it can fuck everything up, but he takes it anyway.

He joins Mitch at a club. Mitch has texted him asking if he wanted to come, and Harry had declined, but he changes his mind and texts Mitch an _Omw_ while he gets ready as quickly as he can.

Harry has vanished as much as he can from the radar, so it’s already not a good idea to go out in the heart of London, but he figures the clubs Mitch likes are not high league, there’s not gonna be much of a chance for paps to be lurking around.

Mitch is perfect and Harry knows. He should be in love with him, because Mitch knows him, and he never pushes for more than Harry can give, which admittedly is nothing at all, so Harry doesn’t even know why Mitch keeps waiting.

Maybe Mitch has waited enough, he thinks as he saunters through the entrance of the club.

He spots Mitch immediately, his hair as recognizable as the hair Harry used to have before he cut it all off.

Mitch smiles. He’s always so happy to see Harry, and Harry should fucking try and love him, because Mitch is safe and he knows Harry.

They’re alone. Whoever Mitch invited apart from Harry is not there yet, and thinking about it, maybe Mitch hasn’t invited anyone else, and was just waiting and hoping Harry would show up.

So Harry goes straight to him and kisses him.

Mitch is a bit astonished, but he returns the kiss after a second.

It feels so fucking wrong Harry’s breath is cut out short from his lungs. He feels Mitch’s lips, and they’re so _wrong_ against his own, they’re not the right shape, not the right colour. Mitch’s kiss doesn’t make Harry’s stomach do a one-eighty, his hands don’t roam up and down Harry’s arms like he knows where to push to make him crumble.

Harry is disgusted at himself, because the mere thought of Mitch’s hands tracing paths that Zayn has fucking _carved_ on Harry’s body makes him want to throw up.

He staggers, interrupting the kiss. He feels like he ran a mile, he feels like crying.

Mitch sighs, and leans his forehead against Harry’s. “It’s okay, Harry” he whispers “It’s okay if you don’t want me. Let’s pretend the last two minutes never happened, yeah?”

Harry nods, and feels even worse. Because Mitch always understands, understands to the point he realized Harry is disgusted at the thought of kissing _someone else_ , and didn’t even get angry about it.

“I need…” Harry points at the loo, feeling his breath come out all wrong.

Mitch nods. “Okay” he just says.

“I’m sorry” Harry tries.

Mitch smiles, and it’s fake. “Don’t be. I understand, Harry. I got you”

Harry nods, and runs away. He stumbles to the loo like he’s drunk, his breath feeling more and more like fire in his chest.

He sits on one of the toilets, heaving, and his phone falls out of the pocket of his trousers.

And maybe it’s just what he’s supposed to do, so he picks it up and opens the chat for _Zayn babe_ like his fingers will burn the screen if he’s not quick enough.

_You ruined me for anyone else. I hate you too, Zayn._

He sends it.

He doesn’t get a reply, but Harry never hoped of getting one.

 

\---

 

**2017**

_September_

Zayn’s doing fairly okay, if he says so himself.

He’s overcome his fear of talking in interviews since he’s gone solo, when he can’t rely on anyone else to answer for him.

He’s eating normally. Still a bit too much junk food, as Gigi tells him, but at least he’s eating, so there’s that.

He’s lost Louis and Niall and Harry, completely and utterly, but he still has Liam. They don’t talk that much, maybe once every few months, but it’s good to know that he’s there, and that he doesn’t resent Zayn for vanishing for months on end. He always answers his phone, Liam, even if their conversations are always just about fuck all.

Granted, Zayn still has issues he’ll probably never overcome, and they all have to do with Harry Styles.

He’s bought Harry’s album in May, right the very day it had come out, and it still sits unopened on his desk. Harry’s lovely back is on the cover, his pale back that Zayn loved to scratch whenever he had the chance.

Zayn has never even managed to break the seal on the album. He’s heard _Sign of the Times_ , because it had come up on the radio while he was with some people from his label, and he didn’t want to throw a strop in front of them. So he’d endured listening to the song, listening to Harry’s voice croon and scream and moan in a way that was just purely, utterly _Harry_ , like the way he’d whisper filthy things to Zayn when he hit his spot just right, or when they were on stage and Harry felt in the mood to rile Zayn up. It never fails, and it doesn’t still to this very day, because after he heard the song, he’d excused himself and he’d gone to the loo, wanking shamefully at the memory of Harry’s voice, and coming so hard he banged his fist into the wall and split one of his knuckles.

But he’s doing okay. He hasn’t heard any other song, and Gigi tells him he’s doing great, so that must count for something.

That’s why, when the interviewer that day brings up Harry, Zayn knows how to smile and pretend his name doesn’t carve holes into his heart anymore.

“Well, I never spoke much to Harry even when I was in the band, so I didn’t expect to talk to him when I left” he says.

He manages to even smile fondly at that, like Harry’s just a good memory from the past, and not the bane of his fucking existence every time he tries to sleep.

He doesn’t think he’s fucked up too bad until the interview comes out, and Liam calls him.

“Bro” Zayn answers his phone.

Zayn wants to ask him how Bear is doing, but Liam sighs before he can speak. “Was it really necessary?” he asks.

“What?” Zayn tries to play dumb.

“Don’t play dumb, Zed. That thing about Harry. Why did you even _say_ that? It’s not like anyone would believe you” Liam replies “There’s already a shitton of fan videos showing every fucking time you two almost kissed on stage, with the caption ‘I never talked to Harry’. It’s like our whole fanbase is arching the Louis eyebrows at you, Zayn”

“Did you call me just to tell me this?” Zayn asks, feeling his stomach churn.

He never meant for it to be a big deal, but of course it is. Zayn knows how to answer in interviews, now, but he’s still shit at media training, apparently, because now he realizes there was _no way_ that thing would go unnoticed.

“He saw it” Liam says at last.

Zayn doesn’t ask who.

“Harry” Liam clarifies anyway “He saw it, and he went fucking ballistic. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. Not even that time when you and Lou smoked a joint and you leaked _Stockholm Syndrome_ ”

There’s too many things in Liam’s sentence. Too many jabs to Zayn’s heart, the fact that Harry’s seen the interview, the mention of that song, the mention of a time when Zayn and Louis were glued by the hip.

“Can… can we do this another time, Leeyum?” Zayn asks, and his voice is all fucked up “I have to go. Gigi’s calling me”

It’s not true. Gigi’s in the States for a couple of shoots. Zayn’s alone in the house, and he wants to keep being like that.

Liam sighs. “Okay, bro. But… just saying. You fucked it up big time. Again”

“I’m sorry” Zayn manages to utter, and ends the call.

He has time just for a nervous cigarette before there’s a knock on the door. A heavy banging, rattling like thunder through the house.

Zayn doesn’t have guards at his door, never wanted to succumb to such a posh and useless thing to do. He has a steel door, and that’s enough.

So he braces himself for whoever it is that decided to almost rip his door from its hinges.

He looks in the peephole, and he almost has a heart attack.

Harry looks good with his hair short.

He’s there, right there, with just a door separating the two of them, and he’s still pounding on the door like it will open if he just keeps _insisting_ long enough.

Zayn opens it. Eventually.

None of them speaks at first. Zayn just stares at Harry, and the thought of him being this close, at a _reaching_ distance, is intolerable. His mind can’t process the fact that he just has to hold out his hand, and he’ll be able to touch Harry.

“Never _spoke_ to me?” Harry shouts, inviting himself in and pushing at Zayn’s chest “Never fucking _spoke_ to me? What the fuck’s wrong with you, Zayn?”

His eyes are full of tears, and Zayn is suddenly scared.

Not because he actually thinks Harry could ever hurt him, but because Harry’s never been violent. Never used his hands to prove a point, unless it was while they were naked in bed, fucking each other into oblivion, and even there, he was rough only when Zayn asked him to be.

“If there was _one thing_ that I still cherished, it was the time when you still talked to me” Harry says, and he’s crying “You destroyed that too. You destroy everything you touch, Zayn. You destroyed _me_ ”

There’s so many things Zayn wants to say. He wants to tell Harry that he destroyed Zayn just the same. He wants to say sorry. He wants to ask him if he spends time with Louis’s son.

He doesn’t say anything, though, because Harry throws himself at him, and he kisses him.

Zayn doesn’t fight it. There are many things wrong with Zayn’s life, but Harry in his arms is never gonna be one of them. So he goes with it, lets Harry kiss him raw, his teeth biting at his bottom lip too hard, drawing blood.

“Harry” he sighs.

He feels Harry shiver and sigh against him, and he realizes he’s never spoken since he opened the door, so it’s the first time Harry’s hearing his voice in almost two years.

They pant each other’s name, endlessly, until they stumble into Zayn’s bedroom, and then Harry’s eyes darken as he pushes Zayn on the bed, roughly, making him bounce three times on the soft mattress. “Is this where you fuck her?” Harry asks.

Zayn nods, because it’s true. He doesn’t tell Harry that he and Gigi haven’t been fucking for almost a year now.

Harry closes his eyes, looking like something’s hurting him, but it’s just for a moment. Then he straddles Zayn, ripping Zayn’s clothes off. Zayn hears the ominous rip of the buttons of his shirt, followed by the _click-click-click_ of them falling over the linoleum on the floor.

“Is this where you’re gonna fuck me again?” he asks Harry.

Harry stutters a breath. Then he nods.

They don’t speak anymore. Not while Harry gets naked too, in a rush, like someone’s chasing him, like their time is limited.

And of course it is, because this is not gonna fix anything. It’s only gonna make it worse, but Zayn wants it, wants it so hard he’s gagging for it.

He sees Harry rustle through his pockets, producing a condom. Zayn doesn’t ask if he brought it on purpose, if he was bold enough to assume Zayn would let him fuck him again.

He only knows he doesn’t want it. “No” he tells Harry.

Harry halts all movements. And if Zayn loves the fact that he just _knows_ Harry would stop whatever they’re doing if Zayn changed his mind, well, Harry doesn’t need to know.

“I don’t want this” Zayn clarifies, grabbing the condom and throwing it on the floor “I’m clean. Are you?”

Harry chuckles, and it’s bitter and wrong, like the last time they spoke to each other. “I haven’t fucked anyone else since you” he says, raw and honest like only Harry knows how to be.

It hurts, deep in his chest. The thought that Harry hasn’t let anyone else touch him, and that he probably thinks Zayn didn’t value _them_ just as much because he’s fucked Gigi after Harry.

Harry doesn’t need to know just how wrong he is. “Okay. No condom then” Zayn says.

Harry nods.

It’s frantic, after that. Zayn thinks it looks like a low-qual porno, with Harry knocking on his door and them ending on Zayn’s bed just two minutes later. He even thinks he’s dreaming for a second, but he knows he isn’t when Harry ducks to bite at his nipple, and it fucking hurts, and Zayn doesn’t wake up.

And if it is a dream, he doesn’t wanna wake up.

Zayn tosses Harry his lube, and Harry doesn’t ask why Zayn had it so at the ready. He doesn’t need to know all the times Zayn’s jerked off to the memory of them together, doesn’t need to know those orgasms are ten times harder and better than whatever Gigi can give him.

Harry’s not gentle while he stretches Zayn, and Zayn doesn’t know if it’s because Harry’s angry, or because he just knows Zayn doesn’t want gentle that night.

It hurts. Zayn has had sex after Harry, but never _this_. He’s missed Harry’s fingers inside him like a limb, like he’s never gonna be complete without them. Harry doesn’t know, but he probably understands it anyway, because he shoves his fingers harder, quickly adding a third and scissoring them.

Zayn looks down at him. He’s frowning, the expression seeming to be permanently etched to his face, because he hasn’t smiled, not even once.

Zayn wants to ask him if he lost his dimples, but he shuts his mouth, bites down on his tongue not to speak.

Harry sighs when he takes his fingers out. “Hands and knees” he tells Zayn.

But no, no, no, Zayn will be damned if he doesn’t look at Harry. “No” he says, tilting his chin.

Harry’s eyes flash with something that is the ghost of a smirk and a laugh Zayn loves. “Whatever you wish for” he just says, and the next moment, he’s slamming inside of Zayn.

Zayn screams, because it hurts, because he loves it, he loves Harry, and he will forever.

Harry stills, scanning Zayn’s face with worry, because maybe he’s afraid to have hurt him, to have been just too much.

Zayn pants, recovers his breath just enough to nod. “Make it hurt” he tells Harry “I want it to hurt”

Harry doesn’t answer. He drapes Zayn’s knees over his shoulders and starts pounding, smacking his hips hard against the back of Zayn’s thighs, and it hurts, but it’s also the best thing Zayn’s felt in two years, the best thing he’s ever felt, and Zayn wants it to hurt forever if it’ll keep Harry there with him.

“I’ve missed you” he gasps, grabbing Harry’s jaws in his hands.

“Shut up” Harry moans, sweat dampening his forehead and his short hair “Shut up”

“I’ve missed you so much” Zayn whispers, his lips on Harry’s, and hopes that the darkness won’t allow Harry to see that he’s crying.

Harry closes his eyes, squeezes them shut like it hurts to look at Zayn. He changes his angle, because even after all that time, he still knows Zayn’s body like his own, still knows where to look for the spot that will make Zayn see white.

And he does. Zayn arches his back off the mattress while Harry relentlessly hits his prostate, and he doesn’t know how he hasn’t died in all that time he went without this, without Harry’s dick taking him apart, without his big hands holding him down.

“I’ve missed you too” Harry whispers, like it hurts too much to say it out loud.

Zayn comes. Right then, untouched. He screams something that might have been Harry’s name, and Harry fucks him through it, not slowing down, going even faster.

Zayn doesn’t stop coming. He keeps falling down that tunnel, feeling his limbs shake against Harry’s sides, and he only stops when Harry shouts his name as well, coming inside him and biting down at his collarbone while he does, making it hurt even more, and making it even better at the same time.

They don’t speak afterwards. Zayn hasn’t slept properly in ages, and now that Harry’s there and he’s fucked him senseless, his eyes are drooping.

He knows he shouldn’t fall asleep, because he knows that’s the last time he’ll see Harry.

But he does anyway, while Harry looks at him and slowly drives his fingers through Zayn’s hair.

 

*

 

Zayn is not surprised when he wakes up alone.

Just to be sure, he looks in the mirror to check the bruises littered over his whole body. He thanks them for being there, because it’s a confirmation it really wasn’t a dream.

 _Harry was here, hurting me right where it felt good_ , he thinks as he presses a finger to the bite mark on his collarbone, hissing at the pain.

He’s not surprised, but he cries anyway. Because he wants Harry, but he doesn’t know how to tell him. Because he doesn’t know if Harry still wants him just the same. Because Harry fucked him like not even a day had passed since the last time, but if he really did want Zayn, then why didn’t he stay?

Zayn calls Liam.

Liam answers at the second ring. “Bro” he sighs.

Zayn sniffles. “I fucked up, Leeyum. Big time”

“Yeah, I know”

Zayn feels his heart shrivel. “You do?”

“Yeah. Harry told me”

“Is he there with you?” Zayn asks, feeling something akin to hope flutter in his stomach “Can I speak to him? Please? I need to tell him. That he needs to come back. I have to talk to him”

Liam sighs. “Oh, Zayn” he says pathetically “He’s not here. He left. His tour starts today. I don’t think he’s coming back any time soon”

Zayn has to sit down at that. His legs keep shaking even when he does. “He’s gone?” he asks.

He wants to stop crying, but he doesn’t know how. It feels like those two years of unshed tears are catching up with him all at once.

Liam sniffles too, but Zayn doesn’t want to know if he’s crying as well, for how his friends are broken, for how they fucked everything up, him included. “Yeah” Liam says “He is. But… he’ll come back?” he adds like it’s a question.

But Zayn knows what it means anyway. “It was a goodbye” he says out loud “He fucked me and he said goodbye to me while he did”

“He’s devastated, Zayn” Liam tells him after a moment “He was wrecked before, but when I saw him this morning, he was just… broken”

“I am too” Zayn answers, and he knows it’s petty and petulant, but he needs to say it “He broke me. Again”

“You keep breaking each other, babe” Liam replies “Harry broke you because he was too busy trying to heal himself in the wrong way to notice that you’re just as broken”

That is the last Zayn hears of Liam for a long time.

Zayn loses a lot that day.

He also loses Gigi.

Because when she comes back from the States, he tells her what happened, and to his horror, Gigi cries.

Zayn doesn’t understand at first, but then he just thinks there is something very wrong with him, because Gigi might have accepted that Zayn doesn’t love her, but Zayn literally just shoved in her face that he cheated on her with Harry. Like he honestly thought it was okay.

Gigi breaks up with him. She hugs him, even. She tells him that she still loves him, but she can’t do this anymore, not if Zayn has come to the point where he prefers having his heart broken forever rather than just trying to love her for once.

That’s the day Zayn hits rock bottom.

And Gigi isn’t there to tell him that once you hit rock bottom, you can only go upwards.

 

\---

 

**2018**

_July_

The tour goes brilliantly, but Harry’s so fucking happy it’s over.

He feels tired, like all the nights he’s spent being cheerful and happy to sing for his fans have taken their toll on him now, as soon as he gets to Manchester, to the house he’s bought in secret, because he’s done with showbiz, at least for a little while.

Louis hugs him when he drops by his new place unannounced. He brings Freddie and food, and Harry loves him in that moment, more than he’s ever loved him, because Louis has always been there for him, even if he still thinks he should have done more.

Freddie’s two, growing up so fast, calling him ‘uncle Haz’ and running around the barely furnished house while both Harry and his father keep an eye on him to make sure he’s safe.

“How are you feeling?” Louis asks after dinner, when Freddie is asleep on Harry’s brand new leather couch.

Harry shrugs. “Tired” he replies honestly “And drained. I thought it was the band, that made me feel like this. But I guess it’s just what touring feels like after a while”

Louis sighs. “I wasn’t talking about the tour, Haz” he says pointedly.

Harry wishes he had Freddie in his lap to avoid Louis’s stare, but Freddie is still peacefully asleep on the couch, so Harry forces himself to face his friend. “What do you mean?”

“Why didn't you tell me? That you saw Zayn. Before leaving”

Harry doesn’t ask how Louis knows, because of course Liam’s told him the moment Harry stepped on the plane to leave for the tour. He doesn’t blame any of them, though. Harry knows Liam is worried senseless, about both Harry and Zayn, and even if Louis won’t admit he’s still worried about Zayn as well, Harry knows it anyway.

He shrugs. “It didn’t mean anything” he offers, blatantly lying.

Louis arches an eyebrow. “You fucked. You banged on his door in the middle of the night and then you banged each other, and then you left him there before he could wake up”

Harry doesn’t point out that Louis sounds like he’s scolding _Harry_ , like he’s worried about how that whole thing has probably fucked Zayn over, all over again.

“Everything means _everything_ with you two” Louis adds, in a whisper, like he doesn’t really want to say it.

“I missed him” Harry says at last, looking at the ground.

Louis doesn’t answer, but he sighs, and Harry feels his pitiful stare even if he’s not looking at him.

“What are you gonna do now?” Louis asks after a couple minutes of silence.

Harry shrugs. “I’ll spend time with you, and Niall, and Liam, and Bear, and Freddie. I wanna be normal, Lou. I wanna be just a normal person, with a normal life, and normal pain”

Louis nods. “Okay, Haz. Okay. I’ll help you. Since I became a dad, I learned a shitton of things about being normal”

Harry feels his heart beat more evenly.

 

*

 

_December_

Harry knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s feeling better.

He’s realized that most of the time, now, when he thinks about Zayn, the scorching pain has subsided. He still feels it, but he also relishes in the good memories. The whispered conversations in nameless hotel rooms, the eye-crinkling smiles Zayn sent his way every single day, the way he kissed him.

It’s gone, but it’s gonna be there forever in a way.

So Harry knows that buying Zayn’s new album can either confirm that or send his whole sand castle to shit. But he buys _Icarus Falls_ anyway.

He listens to it on repeat, for days.

Weeks.

Months.

Harry’s there, hidden in the album, and he knows it. He understands it. Zayn sings _there ain’t nothin’ common ‘bout us_ and _I’m the one, the one, the one that you wish you knew_ and _I don’t wanna say what’s scripted_ , and Harry recognizes himself and Zayn in those words, what they told each other and what they never could say.

But he doesn’t reach out to Zayn, because Zayn had been crying while they fucked, a year earlier. Harry hurt Zayn, and Zayn hurt Harry, and they haven’t healed yet. They need to heal for themselves, and they can’t do it together.

He comes to terms with the fact that he misses Zayn like a limb, though. That he’s been a dick for fucking him and leaving him there, running out like a thief during the night only to be gone on tour the next day, without giving him a chance to talk.

He misses Zayn like a limb, and that’s not changed, probably never will.

 

\---

 

**2019**

_March_

Zayn wakes up in the middle of the night, when his phone pings loudly with a notification.

He mutters, cursing himself because he always forgets to mute it before falling asleep.

His heart does a somersault when he sees the notification is from YouTube, from a channel that has been dormant for years.

 _Harry Styles at the Rock ‘n Roll Hall Of Fame: Highlights_ , says the video, uploaded mere minutes earlier.

Zayn smiles.

It’s a new thing, smiling when he thinks about Harry, but there you have it.

Maybe it’s true that time heals all wounds. Or maybe it’s just the underlying resignation that Zayn and Harry will never be together. Zayn has come to terms with it, except he hasn’t, because every time he stops to properly think about it, he realizes how much he misses that fucking dork with the stupid suits.

He misses Harry like a limb, and that’s not changed, probably never will.

The rest has, though. Zayn feels more at ease, with himself and with the people around him.

Not with the people that count, though, because the people that count are not part of his life anymore. He stumbles through the room until he finds the light switch, and looks for his sweater.

He wears it, grabs his phone and his cigarettes, and goes outside his porch, sitting in the armchair.

He thinks that he was exactly there three years earlier, looking at a video of Harry.

The only difference is that Gigi’s not there anymore. But that’s okay too, because at least she’s forgiven him. They’re not together anymore, but she still loves him, and he still loves her.

Zayn lights his cigarette and presses play on the video.

“What the fuck’s he wearing” he mutters to himself when his eyes squint at the electric blue of Harry’s suit. A chuckle escapes his lips despite himself.

Harry’s introducing Stevie Nicks at the Hall Of Fame. Zayn wonders if Harry was nervous. He looks like he is, and Zayn can’t blame him. He knows just how much of a role model Stevie Nicks is to him, and thinking that Harry managed to charm the knickers off her and make it as far as to fucking present her at the Hall Of Fame, well, it’s something only Harry could do.

Harry speaks a lot. He makes some jokes, too. The crowd loves him.

The video keeps going, and Harry sings with Stevie Nicks. It’s _Stop Dragging My Heart Around_.

Zayn’s heart does something weird behind his ribcage.

He shakes his head. No, he can’t go down that road.

Harry didn’t probably have anything to do with the choice of _that_ song. It’s just a coincidence, that Harry’s sung it so many times to Zayn, in the silence of their bedrooms around the world, when they were alone and naked and hopeful, when Harry didn’t even know how to properly play the guitar yet.

It’s a coincidence.

 

*

 

_April_

Zayn hasn’t called Liam in two years.

He calls him that evening, though, because the ‘coincidence’ hasn’t left his mind for a whole month, and he desperately needs to know to avoid falling down the Harry-shaped rabbit hole all over again.

Besides, Liam is practically _begging_ Zayn to call him, Zayn chuckles to himself as he dials the old number.

He’s been keeping track of the lads lately. He’s read everything about the tragedy that hit Louis’s family with Felicité’s death. He’s even texted Louis. He hasn’t gotten any answer, but Zayn doesn’t mind. He understands it now, and he knows Louis received the text even if he still hates Zayn too much to acknowledge it.

Liam, though. Liam’s been having a fuckton of interviews, and in each of them, he’s been casually name-dropping Zayn like it’s nothing, like they’re just two friends who see each other every other day.

The last time, Liam’s mentioned their ‘pterodactyl’ challenge, which Zayn had honourably won if he says so himself, and he’s even made a mean impression of Zayn’s accent.

 _You want me to call you, Liam_ , Zayn thinks to himself as the call rings.

“Zayn?” Liam answers on maybe the last ring. His voice is shaking.

“Liam?” Zayn asks, concerned “Are you okay?”

Liam laughs. He’s crying. “I missed you so fucking much, you little shit” he sniffles “I didn’t call you because I didn’t think you wanted me to”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “There hasn’t been a fucking moment in my life when I haven’t wanted you around, Liam” he says, and then adds, quickly “Do you wanna meet, maybe? Speak face to face?”

Liam stutters.

They haven’t spoken in two years, yes, but met in person?

Zayn has never _seen_ Liam since he left the band. Much like the other lads.

“Yes” Liam breathes “Yes, Zayn. I’d love to”

 

*

 

They meet at Hyde Park.

Zayn knows that maybe it’s not a great idea, to meet in such a central place in London, but he honestly can’t be arsed to care when he spots Liam coming over to him. There’s no one around, at least.

Liam’s not alone, Zayn notices as he gets closer. Zayn’s heart does something weird in his chest when he sees the toddler, walking on unsteady legs and blabbering something.

Liam sees Zayn immediately, as he walks bending forward and holding the little hands of his kid, making him walk in front of him. Liam smiles. Zayn smiles.

Liam picks up Bear when they stop right in front of Zayn. The hug is kinda awkward, with the toddler resting on Liam’s hip, but Zayn doesn’t fucking care. It’s perfect.

“Bear, this is Zayn” is the first thing that Liam says, talking to the kid.

The kid blinks. “Uncle Zayn?” he says, messing up his consonants, but it’s clear anyway.

Zayn starts to cry. Right there and then, in front of Liam’s son, in front of Liam himself.

Liam looks at him, dismayed, and Zayn tries to keep it together, sniffling and smiling. “Yes” he tells the kid “Nice to meet you, Bear”

Bear giggles.

Liam smiles. “I’ve missed you” he tells Zayn.

Zayn nods. “What are you acting like a pterodactyl for?” he asks, seriously.

Liam bursts out laughing and scratches the back of his head. “I hoped you’d see that. I’ve been trying to send you messages through my interviews for forever”

Zayn chuckles. “I kinda figured that one out”

 

*

 

They talk for a long while. They sit under a tree, hidden from anyone who passes them by. They talk about fuck all and play with Bear until the toddler falls asleep in Zayn’s lap.

Zayn is honestly kind of blown away by the fact that he’s there, talking to Liam and holding his child.

He’s missed two whole years of that baby’s life. He should have been there, holding Liam’s hand while Cheryl gave birth to their son, supporting him and telling him he was gonna be an amazing father. But Zayn hadn’t been there.

“You’ll be here for the rest, won’t you?” Liam asks Zayn with a smile, like he just read his mind.

Zayn nods. He doesn’t have to even think about it. “I’m sorry, Leeyum” he murmurs.

Liam shrugs. “You were in a bad place, mate. I never really resented you”

 _Like Louis did_ , he doesn’t add, but Zayn knows it’s there.

“I missed three years with Freddie too” Zayn says pathetically, because although Liam wants him in his life and next to his kid, there’s a good chance Louis won’t let Zayn be there for even a single day in _his_ life and next to _his_ kid.

“Louis misses you” Liam offers, like it’s nothing, like it’s just a statement and not a simple way of trying to cheer Zayn up.

Zayn shakes his head. “I know he doesn’t. You don’t have to lie”

Liam widens his eyes. “Louis _misses_ you” he repeats, more forcefully “He might give Haz shit ‘cause he wrote a song about you, but at the same time Louis still has all your texts saved in his phone, he doesn’t block your number and he lost his shit when I told him about what happened between you and Harry last time you saw each other”

Zayn’s heart starts to race at a pace that is not normal. Liam has just said so many _things_ , things that need to be explained and clarified before Zayn goes down and has a full-blow panic attack over it.

“A song about me?” he breathes, because that’s the thing that is splitting his skull in two the most.

Liam blinks. “Yeah?”

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about, Liam?”

Liam stares at Zayn for one too many seconds, and then he closes his eyes, massaging his temples with his thumb and index. “You don’t know”

No, Zayn doesn’t know. Because he’s never had the guts of even breaking the seal on Harry’s solo album.

Liam finally puts him out of his misery. “Harry wrote a song for you” he says “And all this time we all thought you knew and didn’t really care. But you don’t know, do you” he chuckles, sadly, and it scares Zayn because he can see the _hope_ in Liam’s eyes.

He has to crush it, because if Liam hopes, then Zayn will too, and he can’t. “A song’s not gonna change anything. Harry doesn’t want me, Liam, not really. If he wanted me, he’d have stayed. He wouldn’t be fucking off around the world and shit”

Liam shakes his head. “Haz’s been out of business since he came back from the tour, Zayn. I think the Hall Of Fame was the first time he even got close to a mic since then”

Zayn feels something deep in his chest break with a sickening sound. “What?”

“He’s bought a house in Manchester, and that’s where he’s been for more than a year. With me and Bear, and Louis and Freddie, and Niall. That’s it. Because he was too wrecked and spent to do anything else, and he had to be normal and heal before it killed him”

 _All this time he was hurting just like you did, and you were too big of an arsehole to notice that you weren’t the only one trying to cope_ , Zayn thinks.

His hands are shaking. He wants a cigarette, but he won’t smoke this close to Bear, so he flexes his fingers and tries to stop the tremors.

“Listen to Harry’s album, Zed” Liam tells him “I have a copy in my car”

Zayn shakes his head. “I… I bought it. When it came out. Never opened it”

Liam chuckles, and it’s sad and hopeful again. “Two fucking years and you’ve had everything Harry wanted to say to you right there”

_I wasn’t ready to listen. And I don’t even know if I am now._

 

*

 

Zayn doesn’t know if he’s ready, but when he gets home, he listens to Harry’s album anyway.

Liam hasn’t told him which one is Harry’s song for him, and throughout the whole album, Zayn’s heart has repeatedly jumped because there are a lot of lines that sound like Harry wrote them for him.

Harry sings _We don’t talk about it, it’s something we don’t do, ‘cause once you go without it nothing else will do_ and _‘cause we don’t say what we really mean_ and _Oh, tell me something I don’t already know_ , and Zayn recognizes himself and Harry in those words, what they told each other and what they never could say.

Nothing hits him like the _actual_ song, though, and Zayn thinks Harry’s kind of an arsehole too, because he put it right at the end of the album.

It’s called _From The Dining Table_ , but it might as well be called _Zayn_ for all he knows.

It looks like Harry has taken all they’ve shared, all they’ve said and all they haven’t, and put it into 3:33 minutes of just his pained voice and guitar. _We haven’t spoke since you went away, comfortable silence is so overrated_ , Harry is almost crying in the track, and Zayn is definitely crying as he listens, finally listens, because that’s what Harry has always wanted him to do. Harry wanted him to _speak_ , and Zayn has never done it, for years and years.

_Why won’t you ever say what you want to say?_

_Even my phone misses your call, by the way_

“Oh, babe” Zayn murmurs, crying so hard his shoulders are shaking with it.

Zayn never talked to Harry, even when talking could have made the difference between losing him and keeping him.

Zayn wants to press ‘stop’ when he hears _Maybe one day you’ll call me and tell me that you’re sorry too._ But he doesn’t.

He needs it to hurt. He needs the pain because he’s been fine, he’s been healing, but it’s just because nothing makes him really _feel_ anything unless it’s Harry. And can it really be considered healing and being fine if you don’t hurt just ‘cause you don’t feel anything?

Zayn shakes his head, because he’d rather hurt forever than be comfortable in nothing at all.

So when the song is over, he decides to make it hurt just a tiny bit more, because maybe it’ll hurt where it’s good again, maybe Harry will answer.

He dials _Hazza babe_.

He’s met with a registered message. _The number you are dialling is no longer in service_.

He curses and paces his living room for a couple minutes. Of course Harry has changed his number. He changed maybe twenty numbers just in the time they were together in the band.

Zayn runs out, jumps in his car, and drives.

 

*

 

Louis lives in a normal house, is his first thought when he finally finds the place.

Liam has given him the address during their chat in Hyde Park, because Liam is still hopeful, so of course he made sure that Zayn would have a way to reach out for Louis if he decided to.

Zayn has fucking decided, so he parks the car and almost runs along the gravel pathway.

There’s no nametag on the door, of course, because Louis might be trying to live normally for the sake of his kid, but he’s not stupid. He would have people swarming his porch at every hour if he had his name written out there for anyone to read.

There’s a doorbell, though.

Zayn rings it.

His heart is almost jumping out of his ribcage, and Zayn has to clutch at his chest to make it settle down when he hears the click of the lock being turned.

And then he sees Louis.

Louis looks at Zayn, his mouth slightly agape, but just for a moment. Then he closes it and clears his throat. “Can I help you?” he asks coldly.

Zayn deserves it, so he doesn’t match his tone when he answers. “I’m sorry” he says.

“No shit” Louis says “You should be. Now come in before someone sees you”

Zayn does.

He follows Louis through a small dark corridor, in silence, and when they get to a fairly wide living room, he doesn’t have time to look around before a toddler comes running towards them, laughing and hugging Louis’s leg.

Zayn feels tears rise right in his throat.

Freddie looks up and squints at Zayn for a moment. Then he grins. “Uncle Zayn” he says.

“Oh, fuck” he hears Louis murmur.

Zayn doesn’t even look at Louis. He just kneels in front of Freddie, trying not to be too hopeful that maybe if the kid is recognizing him and calling him like that it’s because Louis, much like Liam, has talked to his son about Zayn, told him that Zayn is someone who matters in their life.

“And you must be Freddie” Zayn smiles.

Freddie nods. “Dad says you were away. Are you back?”

Zayn raises his head to look at Louis, and Louis doesn’t speak, but his eyes are telling Zayn _Don’t promise my kid something you’re not gonna keep_.

Zayn smiles again at Freddie. “Yes”

“Sick” the kid grins.

Zayn bursts out laughing and crying at the same time, because Louis never says ‘Sick’ like that, only _Zayn_ says that. Freddie looks at him like he’s bonkers, but it’s okay.

“Jesus, come on, you’re already a mess and it’s not even over yet” Louis mutters, taking Freddie’s hand and grabbing one of Zayn’s shoulder to make him stand up, not being particularly gentle, but that’s okay too.

It’s only when Zayn stands up again that he realizes they’re not alone.

Sitting on the couch there’s Liam.

And Niall.

Zayn’s heart does a one-eighty, and he frantically scans the rest of the big room, irrationally scared that Harry’s gonna be there too, because Zayn wants to see him, but not now, not like this, he hasn’t gotten ready for it yet.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, he’s not here”

It’s Niall who has spoken. He’s eyeing Zayn with something unreadable in his gaze, and Zayn feels like crying all over again, because when did Niall become unreadable to him?

Liam waves at Zayn, clearly happy that he’s there even if the atmosphere in the room is not one of the happiest.

Louis sighs. “I’m gonna put Freddie to bed” he announces while the kid protests “Don’t kill him” he adds for Niall, rolling his eyes and gently ushering the kid out of the room.

“Bye uncle Zayn!” the kid shouts from the corridor “See you tomorrow!”

Zayn winces. _Will I, though? I want to. I want it so much._

“Well” Liam sighs “Zayn? Do you wanna sit or do you plan on standing there all night?”

Zayn manages a smile and sits in the armchair. There’s space on the couch next to Niall, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“Hi” he says. It’s for Niall, mainly, and Niall knows.

“Hi, Zayn” he says coldly “Fancy seeing you here”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Niall”

“What are you apologizing for? There’s quite a lot of things, you know”

Zayn doesn’t reply. Niall is very bitter, and Zayn had imagined Louis giving him shit like that, not anyone else. But again, Niall has probably been the closest of the lads to Harry, and he must hate Zayn with a passion now.

“Niall”

It’s Louis. The task of putting Freddie to sleep was very short after all. He saunters to the couch, taking his seat next to Niall, and Zayn absurdly feels like the three of them are a jury, and he’s the defendant.

“I told you not to kill him” Louis says to Niall. His tone is gentler than Zayn was expecting.

Niall shrugs. “Well, he killed Harry, so I might as well”

“Harry’s alive” Louis points out.

Niall scoffs. “Yeah, sure” he says, and finally turns to face Zayn again “Harry died the day he fucking left. And then he died again a shitton of times after that, and even if he wasn’t there, it’s his fault”

He’s speaking like Zayn isn’t even there, but Zayn takes it. He knows he deserves the pain, but when’s it gonna stop? Is it really not enough yet?

“Why are you here, Zayn?” Liam asks, smiling, gently, because he already knows.

“I listened to Harry’s album today” Zayn lamely answers.

He sees Niall’s cold expression falter. “You… you hadn’t, before?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I couldn’t. It hurt too much”

Niall sighs. “We thought you had, and you didn’t care”

Zayn laughs, but it’s sad and teary. “How could I not care about _that_? I’m fucking in love with him, always have been, probably forever will be. And there’s no eating disorder or anxiety or _song_ that is gonna change that”

He looks at all three of them and sees them recoil like he’s punched them. “Eating disorder?” Niall stutters.

Zayn shrugs. “I reckon I wasn’t the only one who didn’t keep track of the rest of the band after it was dismantled” he says, matter-of-factly “Yeah. I was sick. It got worse. And then it got better. I’m sorry I didn’t say it when I realized it had started”

Niall seems to have dropped all pretence and is now looking at Zayn, his blue eyes wide and his cheeks red. “I… We didn’t know. We didn’t notice” he says, and Zayn feels a guilt in his tone that he didn’t want to create.

Zayn barely has time to feel a hand grab him by the wrist, and the next second Louis is pulling Zayn to himself, and he’s hugging Zayn. Zayn’s breath hitches when he inhales Louis’s scent, when he processes the fact that they’re hugging, for the first time in _five years_. “You’re a massive shithead” Louis murmurs, his voice cracking “We didn’t fucking _know_ , Zayn”

“We would have if he’d _spoken_ ”

Zayn thinks that there are many things he won’t ever forget in his life.

The way his mum’s hugs feel.

Gigi petting his hair and telling him that he’s gonna be fine eventually.

And the sound of Harry’s voice.

He jumps, disentangling himself from Louis’s arms and standing up. Sure enough, Harry’s there, standing on the threshold of the corridor in which Louis had disappeared when he’d taken Freddie to bed. He’s resting against the frame, his arms crossed.

His hair is kinda long again.

“You said he wasn’t here” Zayn says, to Niall, but he’s still looking at Harry.

“Freds’s asleep” Harry says, to Louis, but he’s still looking at Zayn.

“Jesus Christ” Louis offers “I told you to stay upstairs”

“I’m not a fucking dog you can put in a kennel now, am I?” Harry says, harshly “What are you doing here?” he adds, and it takes Zayn a moment to realize he’s speaking to him.

“I… I listened to your album” he says dumbly.

Harry shrugs. “Yeah, I heard that and everything else. Why are you here?”

Zayn stutters. What does he fucking mean? He just said he listened to everything, Zayn telling the lads that he fucking _loves_ Harry, and yet there he is, still asking why Zayn’s there.

Harry chuckles bitterly, and shrugs again. “You’re still not fucking speaking” he says, and shakes his head like it’s just what he expected.

“Lovely” Louis comments, standing up “Lads? Join me out for a cigarette?” he asks, looking at Liam and Niall.

They immediately nod and follow him out of the room.

Zayn only takes a step forward when he hears the door closing. “Harry, I…”

“Don’t touch me” Harry says, raising a hand when Zayn’s too close to him. He doesn’t look cold anymore, now that they’re alone. He’s trying to keep his voice cool and collected, but his whole body’s shaking, and his eyes are wide in his face. “Don’t touch me, Zayn, because if you touch me I’m gonna lose my fucking mind all over again, and I don’t think I’ll recover from that. _Again_ ”

“You left!” Zayn exclaims, trying to keep his voice low because Freddie is asleep “You’re the one who made it something we needed to recover from!”

Harry chuckles. “What was I supposed to do? You were fucking _crying_ while I fucked you. I lived every day after that wondering if you felt like I was fucking _raping_ you that night. Do you know what it took me to convince myself you wanted me just the same, that I hadn’t hurt you beyond recovery? It took all I fucking _had_ ”

Zayn feels like someone punched him in the guts. “ _Raping_ me, Harry? Are you fucking joking? That was the best night of my fucking life since I left you” he laughs, hysterically “It was the only time I _felt_ something”

Harry seems to deflate at that. He heaves a big sigh, unmistakable relief, and sags against the doorframe he’s still leaning on, closing his eyes. “He’s fine he’s fine he’s fine” he mutters, almost to himself, like he can’t help it.

“I’m fine. Harry, look at me”

Harry does. His eyes are full of unshed tears, and Zayn wonders if he’s spent years keeping them down as well. “You never _spoke_ to me, Zayn. I never knew if you were fine. This is the first time you’re actually telling me, do you realize that?”

Zayn has to nod, because it’s true. But other things are also true. “You never asked, either, Harry”

Harry nods too. “I was too scared of the answers you were gonna give me. I was afraid you’d tell me you were too far gone, and that I wasn’t enough”

Zayn feels a smile rise up, but he tries to fight it, because he still doesn’t want to hope. “And I was scared I would tell you and you wouldn’t care, because the band was more important. Did you care, Harry? You _have_ to have noticed I was sick, but you never said anything about it”

Harry’s eyes are dark when he answers. “Did you think I stopped saying the word ‘weigh’ in _Little Things_ because I casually lost my breath at the end of the line every single time, Zayn?”

Zayn’s brain makes him instantly relive every single show, like it’s a video someone else has made and is playing now in fast-forward. “You…”

Harry nods. “The lads didn’t notice. But I had you naked in bed with me every single night, Zayn. Of course I noticed” he says “I knew, Zayn. And I knew how proud you are, how you hate feeling vulnerable. So I pretended I didn’t notice. But you _must_ have understood I did know at some point, because if you didn’t, then it means you didn’t manage to know even the smallest part of me in the years we spent fucking and whispering and touching”

Zayn doesn’t reply to that. “Is _From The Dining Table_ about me?” he asks instead.

Harry laughs. “Zayn, the whole fucking album is about you. And all the songs I never released. And all the songs I have yet to write”

Zayn nods. He’s frantic with it, because he feels like there’s a string, tying him to Harry, tying their hearts together, and it’s pulling now, _pulling pulling pulling_ , and Zayn has to fight it not to touch Harry, because he still hasn’t given him permission to. “Mine too” Zayn says “Did you _listen_ , Harry? Did you understand?”

“Every word. On repeat, for months. But I didn’t call you. Because you hurt me, Zayn. You hurt me yesterday and you hurt me today and you’ll hurt me tomorrow. And I can’t take it. It’s been five years, and you still hurt me”

_No no no, please please please._

“I don’t wanna hurt you tomorrow. I love you, Harry. I know I never said it. But I do. You have to know” Zayn says, because he’s done _not_ speaking.

“I know. Does it change anything? I’m not sure”

Zayn’s begging him. He knows he is, and he knows Harry knows, but Zayn feels like he’s always begged Harry, so he might as well do it one more time. “Let me change it. I’m tired of speaking to you through songs and interviews. I want _us_ again, and I want us to be _real_ , because everything’s changed, but one of the last things I told you when I left the band is still true”

“What?” Harry asks, and his eyes are so big and green, and he finally stops leaning into the doorframe and takes a step closer to Zayn.

Zayn holds his gaze. “That you’re the only real thing in my life. You were real then, you’ve been real while we were apart, and you’re real now. And I don’t wanna give up again. I don’t think Niall would ever forgive me”

Harry chuckles, and it’s his _real_ smile, bright and with his dimples showing. “No, he probably wouldn’t” he concedes “But he doesn’t really hate you. He’s missed you too”

They kiss.

Just like that.

Zayn thinks it’s different from the last kiss they shared while they were broken and fucked up and angry, because it’s a kiss that doesn’t want to lead to anything else. It’s a kiss to say _welcome back_ and _don’t leave again_ and _I want to hear you speak again and I want to listen to you again, forever and a bit after that too_.

Zayn doesn’t feel like he wants to fuck Harry’s brains out just to keep him there with him.

He feels like he wants to just kiss him, in the middle of Louis’s living room, while Louis, Niall and Liam are outside and probably trying to eavesdrop, because that’s what it’s always felt right, from fucking bootcamp at the X-Factor to this very moment.

And Zayn has still a lot to say. And Harry too.

But if Harry keeps kissing him, maybe it can mean Zayn will finally have the chance to talk, and listen, and talk again.

 

\---

 

**2022**

_January_

Harry wakes up and he honestly thinks he’s still dreaming, because he hears something very weird.

It’s familiar and foreign at the same time, it sounds like a memory and a wish at the same time.

_Tell me that I’m wrong but I do what I please_

_Way too many people in the Addison Lee_

_Now I’m at the age when I know what I need, oh, whoa_

Harry pads out of the room trying to be as discreet as possible, clutching his phone and holding back a giggle.

Zayn’s at the stove in their kitchen, making eggs and pancakes, judging by the smell.

He’s swaying his hips a little, and he’s fucking singing _Midnight Memories_.

_Midnight memories,_

_Oh oh oh oh oh, baby you and me_

_Stumbling in the street_

_Singing, singing, singing_

Harry makes sure Zayn’s wearing pants, because he’s become a bit of a nudist himself since they moved in together, and once he’s sure Zayn’s at least presentable Harry has no shame left into thumbing his phone open and starting to record him.

A laugh escapes Harry’s mouth when Zayn sings the lines in the bridge that once belonged to Harry himself, messing it up completely because he doesn’t remember the words.

Zayn gasps and turns abruptly to face him, his cheeks purple. “Are you fucking _recording_ me?”

Harry laughs, still doing exactly that. “The lads need to know” he declares.

Zayn flips him off, and Harry laughs again, stopping the video and reaching Zayn at the counter, hugging him from behind and kissing his ear. “Is this your way of telling me you wanna be in One Direction again?”

Zayn snorts. “Over my dead body” he says dramatically “But Freds’s birthday is coming soon. We could sing him something. He’s very much into _No Control_ lately”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This made me cry, like, a lot. But I felt like I had to attempt at least once at a canon-compliant/future fic. I hope you enjoyed it.  
> As usual, let me know what you're thinking :)  
> You'll also find me on Tumblr as wont-you-stay-till-the-am.tumblr.com, if you feel like talking to me.  
> Till next time!


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